Love Is Her Protection
by AgapeErosPhilia
Summary: In love, Cassandra Pentaghast is a butterfly, lightly touching men before floating away. It's safer, and kinder, than the grand romance of stories. But when she travels to Kirkwall at the Divine's command, she may find someone who isn't so easily left behind. Pre-DAI, lore twisted to suit the story rather than the other way around. No relation to my other works! Now complete.
1. The Things That Are Wrong

_A/N: So here is another story. But I hear some people thinking, wait, didn't you just post one? Well, I did, and then I re-read it and hated it and also it was getting a lot darker than I currently want to be, so I came back to this new idea. I am more sorry than I can say to any who read it and wanted more, especially to shom who is a lovely person I can never thank personally. Sometimes I just can't write as well as I wish I could. :(_

 _I hope this one makes up for it, as this is one I will definitely continue and finish. But just to note, while some of the characterization probably overlaps a little because they are who they are, this story and vision is completely divorced from the continuity of my other Cullandra works. I'm also playing a little fast and loose with the timeline of Cassandra's backstory. Anyway, thanks for reading. You are all great!_

* * *

Cassandra Pentaghast fell in love as easily as a leaf from a tree. But of course, leaves only fell once, and she was in a perpetual state of falling.

At nine, she dearly loved the man who kept the horses at their estate outside of Nevarra City. Jacques was quiet and grave and had a beard that looked like a cloud before a storm. She went to the stables every day to watch him train the new yearlings, gentle and delicate, and she fed the horses sugar and carrots alongside him.

"Princessina," he would say, in his thick Antivan accent, "you will spoil my charges with your kindness."

"But I cannot help it," she'd answered each time with a deliberately solemn expression. "They are very spoilable."

And he would laugh and say that she was much the same and give her more treats to pass on. She took the memory of that laughter to her room and dreamed in her childlike way of a wedding that was attended only by horses.

* * *

She had very few clear memories of her mother, but the best was when Cassandra asked her permission to marry the stablemaster. Lady Pentaghast had been writing at her desk, a place where the children were never to disturb her, but Cassandra was too full of visions of her future to bother with that sort of rule.

Instead of snapping, as Cassandra later realized she should have, she smiled broadly. "So, you wish to make Master Braum your life's companion? Tell me, my love, what brought you to this decision?"

Cassandra closed her eyes in furious thought. "He's kind. The horses like him. He lets me have extra treats whenever I want. And he never tells me I'm running too fast," she added, wrinkling her nose. Her governesses were forever telling her to slow down, to watch the path in front of her, to be still.

When she opened them again, her mother was still smiling. "A good start," she said. "And I would say you've chosen very well for yourself. He's a fine man. But, sweetling, you do know he has a wife already?"

"She'll yield to me," said Cassandra. There was no doubt inside of her. "I'm a princess."

That brought on the sternness, the mother that wasn't a mother but was the king's vassal. His spy. "That is unworthy of you."

Cassandra dropped her eyes in shame, and she felt a soothing hand run across her dark hair. "Royalty doesn't stay royal for long if they use their status for themselves instead of their subjects. It's so easy to be cruel when you're born into power," said Lady Pentaghast, and when Cassandra looked up her mother was staring over her, past her into something that only she could see. "Don't give the world a reason to turn on you. It won't hesitate."

"But they tell me I need to be more a princess, not less," said Cassandra in protest.

Lady Pentaghast focused on her once more. "I'm leaving your upbringing too much to those fool governesses. Too few brains and too much time."

Cassandra giggled sharply, then clapped her hand over her mouth and looked over her shoulder for observers. There were none, and she took her hand down again to grin at her mother.

She returned it. "Hopefully that will change soon. But in the meantime, do you understand why you cannot demand a man leave his wife, simply because you wish it?"

Casandra nodded slowly, then blurted, "But I love him! And when you love someone, you marry them. Everyone knows that."

"I am not everyone," said her mother. "And I will tell you a secret. You will love many times, large and small and every place in between. You have a romantic heart, and an adventurous one. Some loves will press on you, some will make you lighter. But only one will be the truth of the matter." She slid off of her chair to kneel down next to Cassandra, putting their eyes at the same height. "I loved before your father, but he was the one I was waiting to find."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, and Cassandra had to lean in to hear it. "Only the Maker knows how much I love that man."

A tear dropped down her mother's cheek, and Cassandra hugged her instinctively. "I'm sorry," she said, distraught. "I'm sorry. I won't marry Master Braum."

"Oh sweetling," said her mother against her shoulder. "It isn't that. And you are too young for all of this now, but I have to take what time I have…" She trailed off and gave her a final squeeze before pulling back with her hands on Cassandra's shoulders. "You won't marry Master Braum, but you will marry someone. Many women plan their weddings for their whole lives. What would you like your wedding to be, someday?"

Cassandra lit up and dragged her mother to the low table with parchments and quills to show her. The aisle was long and lined with guests, four-legged all, and they tried to bite at her bouquet as she walked, but it didn't matter. And her dress was long and lovely, and the day was clear and sunny, and she was as beautiful as she would ever be. The food was all of her favorites, and she and her husband gave the horses their portions.

As she talked her mother wove strands of Cassandra's hair into a braid that wound around her scalp like a crown. After she'd drawn and described every thing she'd seen in her mind the braiding was done, and Cassandra rushed to a mirror to study herself.

"There is always part of you that is a princess," said her mother behind her. "But the rest of you is Cassandra, my brave and wonderful daughter, and you are so loved."

* * *

Her final memory of her mother was when she watched her walk to the high gallows, her back straight and proud. It was only a few months later, but there had been a rebellion in the empty space. Cassandra didn't fully understand it, but her brother Anthony said they would live as suspects and their parents would die as traitors. Their uncle Vestalus would take care of them both, a new guardian, but first they had to watch the deaths. As a lesson.

But Cassandra refused to be taught. Her hair was in her usual braided crown, and she touched it as her mother walked the stony path. Lady Pentaghast wore rags and no shoes, and her eyes were fixed on her husband, who was waiting already atop the platform. And in Cassandra's mind the rags fell away and were replaced with her imagined beautiful gown, and she saw clear skies and a lined path of love. _This is their wedding,_ she thought to herself. _And they have planned this day forever._

Instead of a Cleric, there was a hangman, and instead of vows, there was the fall, but her parents held hands as they went. And Cassandra cried, as expected, but not only because they were gone. Her tears fell partly because they had been so lovely in the going.

* * *

Her next serious love was in the fighting ring. Anthony was the one who insisted that she learn to fight, over Vestalus's objections. He wanted to be a mighty dragon hunter and needed a squire, he said, but she knew it was a lie to make her belong. Cassandra adored Anthony, even more now that he was all she had, and so she trained to fight dragons as well.

She was only fifteen, but she was tall by birth and swift from her years of running where she shouldn't and climbing where no one ever knew, so they put her in training with the oldest group. Most were boys who sneered at the female students, but Anthony stood up for her with his words. She stood up for herself with her sword.

One boy, a few years older, never stopped his teasing, no matter how many times Anthony warned him or she battered him. "Good hit, Princess," he said every time she scored a blow, an infuriating grin on his face. "Dainty enough for afternoon tea, that one was." He took delight in trying to unwind her hair when she rested with a waterskin, darting quick fingers in between the strands before she could twitch away. James was a fletcher's son, and he'd been dealing with delicate things his whole life. He never succeeded in his goal of releasing the braid, but failure didn't seem to bother him.

And the odd part was that it didn't bother her, either. She glared and swatted him away, as she had to, but inside her stomach fluttered and craved that small smile he gave whenever he was caught. It was a smile full of secrets and danger. It was a smile she began to see in new dreams, dreams that held more interesting events than a wedding full of equine guests. When she woke with her head full of clouds she knew it was love once more.

Every morning when she woke she said her prayer to the Maker and then spoke to her mother in quiet meditation. _Is this the love you told me to wait for?_ But her mother never answered.

One afternoon James lingered after the training was over, twirling his broadsword absently. Cassandra noticed without watching, and wondered again why a fletcher's son was so against mastering the bow. Too late she realized they were the last ones remaining, and she stood abruptly. It wasn't proper for a princess to be alone with a man who was not a member of her family.

He moved to block her. "Hey, Princess. Want to spar a little?"

She glanced at the door the training masters had gone through. They'd forbidden any fighting without their supervision.

James followed her gaze and laughed, but it was a soft laugh instead of mocking. "C'mon, they're a bunch of worriers," he said, hefting his sword into a fighting position. "You're good. I'm good. Let's see how good we are together."

His eyes fixed on her face, a delicious darkness that cut straight through her guard, and she no longer wanted to be still and careful. "Very well," she said, and stepped to him with her own sword and shield.

"Ten minutes or first blood," he said softly. "I won't take it easy on you, Cassandra."

She shivered at the sound of his velvet voice around her name. "What are the stakes?"

"What do you want?"

"If I win, you tell Anthony I beat you." Her brother had once claimed she could never beat any of the boys in the class in a real fight, and she'd burned to prove him wrong ever since.

Too late she wondered if that would be a blow to his ego, but James only smiled. "Deal. And if I win, you let me take down that hair of yours," he said. He didn't step any closer, but Cassandra felt the distance between them narrowing anyway. "It's much too tempting, Princess."

Cassandra only nodded, and they set to fighting. They were evenly matched, though less evenly than he probably thought. She kept getting distracted by the flex of his arm, or the harsh note of his breath across from her, and no matter how much she told herself to focus on her steel, she found herself focused more on the fighter. The only thing that kept her centered at all was the knowledge that this kind of mental softness would earn her a harsh reprimand from their instructors. She'd never slay a dragon this way.

But at last a moment came where she was too lost, and he was too unskilled, and his sword sliced across her cheek on a wild upswing. She cried out and dropped her sword, holding a hand to her face. She pressed hard as she fell to the ground in shock, the rush of pain keeping her present. Her fingers came away sticky with blood, and all she could think to say was, "You won."

"Maker's ass, Cassandra," said James in a panic. He knelt next to her and tore a strip off of his shirt to press to her cheek. "I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

 _I'm bleeding_ , she wanted to say. _I don't think that's ever felt good for anyone_. But because he looked truly afraid, and because the pain was nothing compared to the fact that her mother never answered her questions, she shook her head. "No. I'm fine. Thank you for your concern."

To her surprise he laughed, a low rumble that she felt through the hand still touching her face. "You're so serious. So stoic. Hard to believe you're younger than me," he said softly. "Hard to believe you can be so pretty even when you're bleeding."

Her eyes widened as he kissed her, then closed against the welling joy. Without thought she touched his face with her own fingers, and that seemed to be the right thing to do to keep him against her. Her cheek stopped bleeding long before they were done kissing.

They got in trouble with their instructors for the fight, of course, even though James tried to shield her and take all of the blame, but it was worth a hundred lectures to see him and touch his hand and whisper in the darkness in between kisses. Cassandra's head filled with love for him. This was the truth she'd been waiting for.

* * *

Anthony found them one day in a corner of the armory, her hair free and threading through James's fingers like a cord that bound them together. She begged him to stay silent, but her brother told the instructors, who told Vestalus, who dismissed the fletcher the next day and sent him and his son to a distant village. Cassandra was locked in her room for a week before he finally sent for her.

When Cassandra came to him in tears, ready to declare her intention to marry this boy she knew was her future, Vestalus cut her off before she could begin. "Pentaghasts do not have flings with tradesmen's sons," he said in his reedy voice. "You are a princess. You will marry to your, and to this family's, advantage. I won't have you ruined by some adolescent lust."

She tried to protest, but he never let her speak. "Enough. You are my ward. If you run, I will have you dragged back. Your weapons training is officially ended. If you attempt anything of this nature again, you will find you've received many other privileges that will no longer be yours. If that is not sufficient, Anthony will also be punished for any shame you bring upon this household. I hope I am understood."

He turned back to his desk, an unofficial dismissal, and Cassandra left in a blaze of anger. Vestalus was a fool, a mage with no strength for all his posturing. Her training instructors would have called him a soft target, one to kill early to clear the field for the real threats. And he did not control her.

She thought once of Anthony as she packed her belongings to run. He would be punished for this. Vestalus was weak, but he never lied. But that thought was less distressing than it could have been. Her brother had done this to her. He'd betrayed her. Maybe a little punishment was what he deserved.

Cassandra left under cover of darkness, through a patrol that was laughably easy to subvert. She carried daggers instead of a sword, wore traveling clothes instead of a gown, but as the safety of the estate gave way behind her, she felt more herself than she had in a very long time.

But everything went wrong.

Anthony came after her, why she never knew. He was frantic, that was clear, but before he could speak a band of mages fell on them both. They'd been tracking her, for her dragon hunter's blood, but Anthony was larger and stronger and male, so they wanted him instead. Her they would simply kill. When they said that Anthony screamed defiance and fought, and though they both had the strength and the training to win, he died on one of their blades while she watched in dumb helplessness.

She ran, far away from the terrified and bleeding mages, ran to the town where James had gone. It was the only place she knew that might be safe. That would have even a touch of home. She found her love pressing a girl to the wall outside of his new house, her auburn hair clenched in his fist as they explored each others' mouths.

A group of Seekers of Truth saw her fighting him with her knives, wild and deadly and full of pain, and when they found out her name, her faith, and her desire for a new life they recruited her on the spot.

* * *

The Seekers taught her the control her governesses had never found. At her core she remained the same woman she'd always been. She was apt to want to run where she should walk. Her mind flew along the path that was quickest while those around her debated and dithered. But while her actions remained decisive, once she took them, she learned to make that slow first step before sprinting. She learned to hide some of the impulsiveness that had always lived under her skin. She learned to control the expressions of her face and heart. The Seekers were very pleased with her progress.

And she channeled her romantic nature the same way.

Cassandra understood now that the part of romance that was good was the beginning, the time where the adrenaline spiked, colors were clear and bright, and her heart danced and fluttered in overwhelming sensation. A boy would laugh, or touch his forehead, or simply stand in the doorframe in a familiar, alluring way, and Cassandra spiraled down the path of early love once more. When she was old enough, she found the further pleasures of the bed, and Seeker life became a dream to balance out the nightmares of her past.

Never play the string out too far, though. Never walk so far down the path that the way out was lost. After the excitement came the pain, the separations, and they could only bring heartache to her.

Between the loves there were the dreams of death. Her parents dropped and her brother bled out, and she prayed to the Maker that another love would come to her quickly to replace them. There was no shortage of trained men to satisfy every part of her, but she had to take care to only act with the ones who expected little. She didn't plan to be anyone's truth. She knew enough about the nature of Seeking it, by now, to know that it was all too easy to find where it didn't exist.

* * *

So Cassandra fell a dozen times, a hundred, and the joy of it never faltered. Whether it found purchase or not, it was always a firework against her heart.

She fell when she stepped out of her vigil, not too full of the Maker to miss the man who watched her with a lock of hair draping over his eye like the sweetest temptation. She fell after she fought off a dragon, for the village smith who stood quietly in his wife's arms and cried out his grief for those they hadn't been able to save. She fell when she was the Divine's Right Hand, trading glances with supplicants who never found the Chantry holy enough to ignore her. She fell when she traveled, meeting and dancing and playing and leaving.

Now Divine Justinia had sent her to Kirkwall with Leliana. In name they were taking stock of the place that had been the first salvo in the mage and Templar wars, to help the Divine end the hostilities. Underneath they searched for Viscountess Hawke, the former ruler of the city who'd vanished without a trace. They needed a leader for the new movement they were building, and Hawke was one of the few names that had managed to be in the war without becoming hated for it. Her trail was cold, but she still had former friends in the city. They would find her.

The Hands of the Divine landed on the shore of the Gallows, the Templar garrison. It was their temporary home, and the gray stones somehow seemed welcoming under a bright and streaming sun. The man who steered the boat was small and dark and undeniably attractive, and Cassandra had spent the voyage exploring the small ripples of happiness bursting within her. They stepped into the courtyard, but before she could say her meaningful goodbyes, a figure broke apart from a clustered knot of Templars and walked down the steps to greet them. When he lifted his helm to see them more clearly, Cassandra nearly lost her balance.

He was tall, taller than her which was a rarity even among warriors, and built as powerfully as any Templar she'd seen. His golden hair fell gently in soft waves, and as she watched the wind ruffled it into a new pattern, one she longed to smooth down. The unyielding armor he wore only enhanced the hard lines of his jaw and the carved granite of his face. But his skin was pale, almost too pale to suit, and the dry, observant part of her noticed the weary lines around his eyes and mouth and the cuts between his stubble where his knife had slipped in shaving. This was a man driving himself into the ground, which meant he was certainly the garrison's commander.

But that realization seemed distant, very far away, as the small vibrations inside her were overwhelmed by a roaring, crazed, joyful shout. Oh yes, she would fall for this man. And if the Maker was kind, he would be the sort to let her have those few weeks of stolen, hungry kisses and hidden pleasures before releasing her back into the world to find the next happiness.

The fervency of her prayer redoubled when he got close enough for her to see the soft lights of his honey-brown eyes. He extended a hand to them both. "Lady Leliana, Seeker Pentaghast. I'm Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford. Welcome to Kirkwall."


	2. Dinner Entertainment

Leliana laughed, high and clear. "Come now, Cullen, that's no way to greet an old friend." The Orlesian's tone was equal parts teasing and stern, and the Knight-Commander colored under her grin.

Cassandra's heart flipped once as he glanced, embarrassed, at her before turning back to her companion. "I, ah, I wasn't sure that you would remember… it's been some time," he said.

"And here I thought it would be _you_ who had forgotten _me_."

The coy tone snapped Cassandra back into the present like nothing else could. She looked between the two of them carefully, wondering if she was reading them right. "Were you two once involved?"

The Templar's face reddened even more dangerously, but Leliana only smirked. "Would it matter, Cassandra?"

Ugh. She always saw too much. Cassandra prided herself on her unreadable expression, but a bard-trained friend was too difficult to fool. But never mind the first tastes of disappointment washing through her - she wouldn't give in. "Of course not. You are both adults. But potential conflicts or fraternization must be taken into account," she said.

She groaned inwardly at the amused curve of Leliana's eyebrow. She sounded like a hectoring sergeant. Or, worse, a disapproving mother.

But Rutherford surprised her by nodding. "Of course, Seeker. Your instruction is appreciated," he said. She looked at him for signs of sarcasm, but he seemed perfectly serious. He met her gaze squarely as he saluted. Even after he dropped it at her nod, he maintained his new formality. "Nevertheless, in this case there's no need for concern. I met Lady Leliana during the Blight in Ferelden, but it was no romantic interlude. Far from it."

"At Kinloch," said Leliana, so softly that Cassandra wasn't sure that she'd heard it.

The Knight-Commander's slight wince confirmed that she had. She cast about for something to say. First at Kinloch, then at Kirkwall. As difficult a path as a Templar's career could have taken, and yet he was still here. Many Templars had broken or ran for less. "I'm very sorry," she said eventually, painfully aware of its inadequacy.

"Thank you," he replied. His eyes flashed gratitude, and a shiver ran through her at his small smile. His lips were full and perfectly formed, well-designed for smiles. Or orders. Or kissing. Or pleas.

Cassandra checked herself. She wanted him, was well on her way to love, but she'd trained herself to survey the lay of the field before she rushed in. And even if they had no explicit history, Leliana's familiarity was a confounding factor, one she needed to understand before she entertained thoughts of that mouth teasing her to ecstasy.

While she'd been fighting with herself, he'd gestured to a woman waiting behind him. "Knight-Corporal Lorel will show you to your quarters. I placed you in the officer's wing, on the far side. We'll stand between you and the mages, should it come to that. Not that it will."

"You still have mages here?" asked Cassandra.

He nodded slowly. "Not all wanted to join the rebels, and they desired our protection. We've also added some children from the city. And the Tranquil remain, in part. We do our best to maintain a safe environment for them."

Blood mages, here. Everyone at the Gallows had used blood magic in the end, whether they'd consented or not. Whether they admitted to it or not. Was the man suicidal or simply too trusting? Anthony's anguished face rose up in front of her, and she banished it fiercely. They were here for the Inquisition, a bigger cause than eradicating a few blood mages. They would need the Knight-Commander's help, and she would hold her temper.

She realized they were all staring at her, waiting, and she nodded. "I'm sure your garrison is doing its duty."

"Thank you," he said again, but this time he seemed puzzled. When they made to follow Lorel to their rooms, hoisting their bags over their shoulders, he reached out and touched Leliana's arm. "I am glad to see you again, Lady. I remember your bravery in the Tower, and I heard about what you accomplished in Denerim with the Hero. If anyone can find a solution to all of this, it will be you."

Cassandra's stomach clenched at the admiration on his face and the trust in his voice. Her warrior's calm sustained her as she reluctantly let go of this new, exciting love. He wanted Leliana, clearly. There was no reason why he shouldn't. And if Cassandra had learned anything over the last decade, it was that any happiness in the dance ended the instant a third party started its steps.

* * *

She'd been unpacking for only ten minutes when her door flew open, and Leliana plopped down on the bed. "Finished already?" asked Cassandra wryly, walking over to shut the door once more.

"For now," said Leliana. "No sense in doing it twice."

Cassandra nodded. Leliana was the Left Hand, the Divine's eyes in the shadows, and she carried the sensitive side of the Chantry with her. It was inevitable that some servant, some Templar, some someone would come to rifle through her things in search of information. And Leliana traveled with several sets of information, some true and some false but all well-hidden. The bard understood the game far better than Cassandra did, and accepted it, but she always complained that she ended up having to rearrange everything once the search was done.

"So, what do you think?" asked Leliana, stretching out to stare at the ceiling.

"Hawke must have left someone with the knowledge of where she was going," said Cassandra, opening a drawer to stuff her shirts inside. "This place seems relatively well-recovered, given everything, so we should be able to go into the city proper without raising too many suspicions about shirking our Chantry duties. It shouldn't take long."

Leliana made an annoyed sound behind her. "I meant about the Knight-Commander."

"I'm sorry?"

"Knight-Commander Rutherford? Cullen? Tall, broad, angelically handsome?"

Cassandra frowned at her clothing. "Yes, he likely also has information regarding Hawke. They worked closely together until she disappeared. But if he were inclined to share it, he would have done so already."

"I'm sure he'd be more than willing to divulge his information during pillow talk." Leliana sighed theatrically, and Cassandra knew if she turned around she'd see the Orlesian with her hands clasped to her heart like a smitten maiden.

So she didn't turn around. "Yes, well, he seemed to admire you very much," she said. "I'm sure you will have no difficulty in obtaining whatever we need to know."

"Me?" Leliana sounded so startled that Cassandra did spin towards her. "Maker save me, when have I ever given the impression I liked Chantry boys? Lovely to look at, far too pure for anything else."

Leliana tossed her a handful of smallclothes, scattering a few across the floor. "Though I must admit, Cullen would almost be worth making an exception for. I think he'd tarnish quite nicely. But don't tell me you don't want to fall on that sword," she said. She laughed when Cassandra glared at her. "I saw your face. That impassivity of yours speaks volumes."

"It is not a matter of my face," said Cassandra. She picked up the strewn cloth with an irritable flourish. "To pursue a target who has already shown affection elsewhere is unworthy. And will only lead to heartbreak. You're much better positioned to question him successfully."

"And your usual method doesn't break hearts?" said Leliana, ignoring the point entirely. "You've torn plenty into pieces with your fast burning affairs, and you know it. There are villages full to bursting with pining men."

Cassandra scowled. "They do not pine after me. They receive only small hurts, if any at all, and they are easily healed. It's better than the alternative. And I have never turned any man aside from his true desire," she said. "Besides, if you believe I only injure those that I become involved with, you should be glad to see your friend spared my attention."

The bard rose from the bed and crossed the room to lay a hand across Cassandra's, stilling her movements. Her voice came low and serious, no more hints of laughter or longing. "I wish you would let go of that fletcher's son," she said. "You were young, and he doesn't deserve the importance you give him."

How she'd found out about that shameful love affair Cassandra never knew, but she'd never stopped pressing on the memory since she had. And, like always, the scab peeled away, and Cassandra began the messy business of closing the wound once more. "I'm perfectly happy as I am," she said. "Don't trouble yourself over me."

Leliana snorted. "Happy," she said. "You don't know the smallest thing about it. The beginnings are pleasant, as they go, but they're nothing compared to the heights of knowing there is a person living for you, and you for them, and that they've swallowed you into their soul while leaving you exactly the same. You need to know that, Cassandra. Once you've tasted it, you'll never go back. The Maker Himself embraced it with Andraste, and it gave us all hope."

She spoke quickly, heatedly, passionately, and Cassandra felt the reflected flames of her words wash over her. When Leliana spoke of eternal love, it was a real thing, and Cassandra almost believed it wasn't an experience that was beyond her. She wondered again who it was Leliana loved so desperately, but she didn't have her friend's skill at ferreting out secrets.

Cassandra shrugged. "Perhaps we are not all so divinely touched. But even if you're right, this is not the time for it. We have a purpose to fulfill here," she said. "And Knight-Commander Rutherford will not be my lover in any case. You have claimed him, whether you wish it or not. Now, leave. I need to finish my unpacking, and your room should have been thoroughly searched."

"This isn't over," said Leliana, but she moved towards the door anyway. "I can save the world and you at the same time, you know."

"Don't waste your energy," Cassandra called out as the door clicked shut. "I'm fine."

* * *

She was less fine at dinner. As a Seeker she'd been to several Circles, and they were never fancy. She'd dressed in her usual travel fare, clean but utilitarian, and blinked when she saw Leliana in the hall in a dress. A simple one, with plain lines, but a dress nonetheless.

"What in the Void are you wearing?"

"A dress, obviously," said Leliana, twirling slightly. "It's our first night here. They'll try to impress us. I wish to return the favor."

"Nonsense. It's a Templar garrison, not an Orlesian ball. They don't stand on ceremony for visitors."

Leliana shrugged and led the way to the mess hall, then smiled triumphantly when Cullen was waiting outside the door in a tailored red shirt and dark trousers. They had no patches and were likely the nicest clothes the man owned. The room beyond him was full of similarly dressed men and women, politely passing dishes around an adorned table. Cassandra looked down at her own attire and tried not to feel self-conscious.

He gave a nod just short of a bow as they approached, then did a double-take at Leliana. "You're wearing a dress."

She rolled her eyes even as she curtsied. "Everyone here is so observant," she said. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, of course not! It's very nice," he said, rubbing a hand along the side of his trousers. "I just didn't picture you as a dress-wearing kind of woman." His eyes widened. "Not that you shouldn't wear what you enjoy. You look nice."

Leliana giggled winsomely, and Cullen turned a shade of red that matched his shirt. "Maker's breath," he muttered.

Cassandra took pity on the lovestruck, stammering man and broke in. "I'm sorry that my own apparel is less suitable. Leliana warned me that formality would be expected, but I didn't believe her."

Instead of relaxing him, the words seemed to have the opposite effect. "Of course, Seeker. You would have wanted to see us in our normal day-to-day. I apologize for the misunderstanding," he said. "I'm afraid the men have already begun eating. Unless you want me to stop them?"

"Don't trouble yourself, or them," she said, trying to find a way to ease the new tension. "But I trust the dining is usually more casual?"

He grinned, then, a boyish expression that made him enormously appealing. "Casual enough that it can't even be called dining," he said.

She smiled against her better judgment, and he finally relaxed. He glanced at Leliana again, obviously wondering if he should offer her his arm. Cassandra saw the moment he realized to do that would be to deny the other woman an escort, and he stepped back to usher them in gallantly instead, a light blush in place once more. The man blushed more than any ten she'd ever seen. Still, Cassandra wished she could reassure him that this was entirely normal. Stronger men than he had been reduced to insensibility by Leliana at full charm.

At least the bard seemed to have taken her advice to heart about which of them should ply the Knight-Commander. She swished past him and asked, "So we shouldn't expect to see you in such splendor again?"

"I certainly hope not," he said. "I have a closet full of these things, thanks to the former Viscountess, but I much prefer my armor."

Cassandra waited for Leliana to take the opening to ask about Hawke, letting her own thoughts wander. A shame, in some ways, that this would be the last time she'd see Cullen this way. His shoulders were even more impressive straining against the seams of the fitted shirt, and the trousers did dangerous things to his hips. Dangerous to her, anyway.

"After you, Seeker," she heard at the edge of her attention, and she started as she realized she'd been staring at him. She looked away quickly. Leliana hadn't followed up on his comment, instead settling into her place flanking the head of the table. At its left side, of course.

"Thank you, Knight-Commander," she said. His hand brushed across her back as he reached to close the door, and she bit her lip. _Leliana, hurry. I'm not nearly so strong as I need to be._

* * *

The Orlesian was indeed at her most charming all evening, capturing the imaginations of the entire room, including the blonde Templar next to her. She told stories of high courts to delight the socially interested, love tales to those with romantic hearts, and skirmishes in the Blight to tempt the ones excited by war. She even sang with only a little urging, her accented voice dancing around the room and drawing longing sighs from the table. The men and women appealed to their leader for assignments in Orlais, but he only smiled and said they should enjoy their visitors while they could.

When Cassandra smiled at their groans of displeasure, he looked over at her. Leliana launched into another twisted court intrigue, but he wasn't listening. "You're very silent, Seeker. Is anything wrong?" he asked. She met his eyes and cursed inwardly at the unfairness of it. What woman could resist him when he stared at her with those molten, concerned pools of light?

She shook her head, both in negation and to clear it. "Nothing is wrong. I simply prefer to leave the conversation to Leliana," she said. "It's good tactics to let the more charismatic person of a pair do the speaking in social gatherings."

"I'm sure you're very charismatic, when you chose to be," he said with a small smile.

"If I ever choose to be, I will be sure to inform you immediately," she said lightly, then bit the inside of her lip in vexation. So much for being strong.

He laughed, and she tried not to enjoy the way he ran his fingers over his mouth to muffle it. Butterflies danced in her stomach, and she sternly caged them. "She also has better stories than I," she added. "Your men will enjoy them."

Cullen blinked in surprise. "But you killed a dragon," he said. An embarrassed look crossed his face when she stared at him. "You're famous for it."

She frowned. "I was one of many. I did very little," she said. "It was mostly luck and doesn't make for a good tale."

"But I was told you saved a whole village. And the Divine," he said doubtfully.

"I saved some. Others saved more." She tried to turn the conversation back to the lovely bard. "Leliana killed an archdemon," she said. "Much more impressive in the telling."

"Alistair killed it," said Leliana, and belatedly Cassandra realized they'd all been listening to her. "He paid with his life for that impressive story."

"Of course, Leliana. Forgive me," said Cassandra. "I meant no disrespect."

Leliana must have heard her sincerity, for she settled back in her seat and the anger went out of her face. "Forgiven," she said. She closed her eyes and sang again, this time almost to herself. It was a simple song, a Chantry song used to say goodbye to a soul flown to the Maker's realm. It repeated the same notes in a vibrant, pulsing wave, swirling and carrying the heart on its soft rhythm. Cassandra felt the room ebb and flow to follow it.

They'd all seen loss.

When Leliana finished, more than one Templar wiped their eyes with napkins or hands, and even Cullen's face showed strain. "Thank you, Leliana," he said, and reached across to grip her hand. Tears lurked in his eyes, and Cassandra had to look away at the desperate pain she saw there. But no tears gathered in her own eyes. She sent her sadness back into the past, where it belonged.

* * *

Cullen walked them back to their rooms. He'd claimed he didn't want them to get lost, but Cassandra could tell he wanted to spend more time with Leliana. She followed behind them silently as they talked about the people they'd known in Ferelden, particularly the King. Aedan Cousland, the Hero, had married the widow Queen Anora in a highly political union that had kept the country from total ruin. Leliana never spoke of him much - Cassandra guessed he was too tied up in the agony of the Blight's end - but Cullen drew her out skillfully, and they shared what memories they had.

If there was pain threaded underneath their bursts of laughter, neither of them acknowledged it.

When they reached the quiet hallway reserved for the visitors, Cassandra placed a silent hand on her door. Before she could push it open, Cullen looked back at her. "I'm sorry, Seeker Pentaghast. We've been very rude in our memories."

"Renewing an acquaintance is never rude," she said. "Please continue your discussion. I was planning to retire early anyway."

Leliana rolled her eyes beside their escort, but Cassandra didn't react. Cullen did, stepping near enough to touch. He was warm and solid, and a little of that warmness spread over her skin where he was closest. "I hope this isn't my doing," he said, distress evident in his voice. "About the dragon. I didn't mean to offend you."

"I took no offense, Knight-Commander," she said. "Your curiosity was only natural. But as I said, I'm not one who tells stories."

"I'm glad you're not angry," he said, though he still seemed hesitant. He shifted his weight before saying, "Won't you call me Cullen, as Leliana does? I have to admit I'm not comfortable with my rank even now."

Leliana nodded vigorously, making encouraging motions with her hand, and Cassandra crossed her arms. "How can I, if you continue to be so formal with my own?"

"Would you prefer Lady Pentaghast?" he asked. He cleared his throat when she scowled. "Or Cassandra?"

His face was serious and much too handsome, and his voice was a rough baritone over her name. The butterflies she'd so successfully tamped down escaped in even greater numbers, much to her annoyance, and she fought to keep them locked away.

Before she could answer, Leliana's voice drilled between them, full of mischief. "You could call her Princess."

Cullen started at the sound, half-twisting in surprise, then her words seemed to sink in. "Princess? You're royal?" he asked.

Cassandra could see a "your majesty" or "your highness" lurking on his lips and growled to cut it off. "No. Well, I am, but Leliana is only attempting to vex me with the reminder of it. I do not pretend any claim to titles or lands. And I would appreciate it if you did not address me as such," she said. She was half-tempted to give him the intimacy of her name, to take another step down the path of flirtation that called to her, but she resisted. "Seeker is fine. Cullen."

He narrowed his eyes but didn't challenge her. Instead he seemed to be studying her face. "I never would have guessed you were a princess," he said, almost to himself. "I always thought they were…"

His voice trailed off and Cassandra filled in the empty space in her head. Delicate. Graceful. Well-mannered. Delightful. Beloved.

"Silly," he said finally, and she started. He shrugged. "I can't imagine you locked away, helpless in a tower, while the world chose for you."

She smiled bitterly at the reminder. "They wanted to do so. I escaped."

That grin appeared again, the one that made him look young, alive, and without a care in the world. "That seems about right," he said, and she melted a little more. He looked around them, as though seeing the hall for the first time, and sobered. "I'm keeping you from your rest. Sleep well, Seeker. We'll meet after breakfast to discuss how the Templars can assist your objectives here in Kirkwall."

There was a faint question around the words, but she let it pass. She needed to get away from this. "Thank you. Enjoy your reminiscing. Both of you," she added, nodding to Leliana before she opened her door. She stepped through with a firm gait and closed the door behind her resolutely. With luck, and the bard's talents, their reminiscing would turn into romancing, and he would be too busy looking at Leliana to flash that devastating grin at her ever again.


	3. Office Gossip

The next morning dawned gray and drizzly, and the servant girl who delivered Cassandra's breakfast answered her query with a quick nod. "Yes your ladyship, the rain comes heavy this time of year. But it comes and goes, comes and goes, and the boats travel regardless 'cept it's a storm. Knight-Commander Rutherford let some of us move our kin over to this side to save us the trip, too, so it's not so bad," she said. She stopped and bit her lip. "Sorry to be so chatty, your ladyship."

"Not at all," said Cassandra. She smiled reassuringly. "I asked the question, didn't I? But are you not worried, living in the same place as so many mages?"

The servant shrugged. "We thought of that, of course. But the way I see it, the bad ones all left, and here should be safe as houses with the Templars around. It's not like Kirkwall's a nice place in itself, you know."

"I see," said Cassandra. The woman was curtsying her way out when Cassandra held up her hand. "Forgive me, I did not ask your name."

"Oh lady, I wouldn't expect such a thing. Not from a princess and all," the girl said shyly. "But if it pleases you, I'm Mary."

Mary left, which was just as well because Cassandra was suddenly furious. If the servants knew her lineage, then everyone knew, and only two people could have told them. Only one would have. So when Leliana walked in, be-robed and yawning, Cassandra immediately demanded, "How many did you tell?"

"I tell no one anything, as you know," said Leliana lazily, grabbing a piece of fruit and reclining on the bed. "But if you want to know what I specifically kept secret this time, you'll have to give me more details."

"Of my… that I am member of royalty," said Cassandra. "And you weren't shy about revealing it to the Knight-Commander last evening."

"Oh, that," said Leliana, grinning like a cat. "That was just help. And it worked. He asked me quite a bit about the whole thing."

"You were supposed to be learning about Hawke!"

"All in good time, Cassandra. I'm doing two jobs at once, and they must go in their proper order."

"You're impossible," muttered Cassandra to herself. She wasn't jealous, of course, but Leliana's interferences were always annoying. "He sees only you."

A hard smile rose to her lips when the other woman yawned again, and she spoke more loudly. "Late evening?"

"Late enough." Leliana hopped off the bed and grabbed more food. "Eat quickly. We're due in Cullen's office in half an hour."

* * *

Cullen's office was a disaster.

Papers were stacked and teetering in hopeless piles on the floor, tall enough that the pages at the bottom had surely had any writing compressed out of them ages ago. Writing supplies were scattered on every surface, along with spare weaponry, clothing, and even dishes that had the look of hastily discarded meals. The only signs of neatness were the couch, cleared and empty of all debris, two chairs placed opposite the covered desk, and the polished armor hanging from a dummy in the corner.

Cassandra noticed a folded blanket draped over the back of the couch and a pillow partially shoved underneath it and wondered how often the man slept here.

Likely last night, at least, from his own disheveled appearance. Cullen sat in the center of the chaos, scribbling something and muttering under his breath as they approached. His fine clothes of the night before were gone, as well as his grooming. Quite frankly, the man looked like a mess. His hair was sleep-tossed and wild, and the rough stubble stood a start contrast to his still pale skin. His morning had clearly not included a razor yet. He wore a rough-spun, threadbare shirt, and though she couldn't see his legs, she guessed his pants were of similar make.

The shirt had sleeves short enough for either training or sleep, or possibly both, given the hard-used look of it, and her eyes were naturally drawn to the curves of his biceps. _Though truly he would sleep shirtless, in the humid air of Kirkwall_ , Cassandra's traitor mind whispered.

She abandoned those pleasurable musings when he rubbed his hand over his eyes and looked up. A startled expression crossed his face, and he stood abruptly. "Ladies. I'm so sorry, I didn't hear you come in. Please, be seated," he said, gesturing to the chairs. He looked around his office, a slightly lost look in his eyes, and grimaced. "I apologize for the state of, well, the state of things."

He met their eyes briefly before glancing down and grimacing again. "And myself. My morning didn't quite go as planned, and I was going to change, but I lost track of time. I seem to be slightly off today."

 _A night with a motivated Orlesian will do that,_ thought Cassandra, but she said instead, "Quite understood, Knight-Commander. You are very busy, and we appreciate whatever time you can spare us."

"I'm at the Divine's service," he said politely, then looked down at her with a small smile as she and Leliana sat. "But I thought we'd agreed on Cullen?"

To her horror, Cassandra felt a faint flush rising to her cheeks, but fortunately Leliana saved her. The Orlesian had been studying the room in bemused interest and finally said, "I thought my own filing methods were esoteric, but how do you find anything in here?"

Cullen laughed. "I don't. Some of those stacks have been there since Meredith," he said. The light went out of his eyes. "Obviously she's not available to ask what they contain anymore. I thought about attempting to clean before you arrived, but there wasn't much time. And it didn't seem… honest. It seemed best to show you the truth of things."

He looked at her inscrutably as he said it, and Cassandra frowned at the message she didn't understand. But it hardly mattered, as he didn't seem to want a reply. Cullen sat behind his desk, steepled his fingers, and leaned forward. "So. What can Kirkwall do for the Grand Cathedral?"

There was a doubtful undercurrent to the question that Cassandra didn't like, but she ignored it and went through the rehearsed, true but incomplete reasons for being there. Justinia was planning a Conclave of mage and Templar leaders, and she wanted a better understanding of the place where so much of it had began. But time was short, and they needed his help to get to the places and people they needed to fill in a complete picture. Nothing about the Inquisition. Nothing about the plans that were waiting should the Conclave fail.

"You'd have better luck with the rebel mages, if you truly want to know what happened here," he said when she finished. His mouth twisted painfully. "More of them survived it."

"There are people speaking with them, as well," said Cassandra. "The Divine thought our skills would be more useful here."

His jaw tightened, and he looked away. "Well, for what it's worth you have free rein here and in the city. Speak to whomever you like, with the Templars authority, though I'd ask that you not question city-dwellers too harshly without good reason," he said. "Trust is only just starting to come back to Kirkwall, and it would be easily broken."

"You have so much influence?" asked Leliana. "What of the Viscount? Should we not ask him?"

"Speak to him all you like. But don't try his office. You're more likely to find him passed out in the Blooming Rose."

Cassandra cut a glance at Leliana, who mouthed, _The brothel._ She blinked. "Why have a Viscount who will not take the responsibility of his office?"

Cullen's bitter expression softened as he chuckled. "I often ask myself the same thing, but he was the one selected. The nobles like him, Maker knows why. But I worked with Hawke before she left. I know enough to keep the place running," he said. "The Seneschal is a good man as well. It's not perfect, but it works."

 _Works by running you ragged_ , thought Cassandra. She leaned forward. "Yes, Hawke. She's someone we would like to speak to. Except for the mage Anders, obviously beyond our questioning, she was the one most at the center of it all. Where did she go?"

A look of discomfort crossed his face. "Your guess is as good as mine. One day she was here, the next she was gone. I never heard from her again." Cullen spoke the words quickly, all in a rush, and the set of his shoulders was anything but honest even though his words sounded true. Cassandra hesitated, trying to find the right question to ask.

Leliana's purr cut through the room like a scythe. "But you were sleeping with her, were you not, Cullen? And a woman would never abandon her lover without any word at all."

Cassandra fought to keep her face expressionless, wondering if this was a thing Leliana knew or a blind swing she was hoping would land true. Either way, Cullen half-rose from his chair, his fists braced on the desk. "That's none of your concern," he said in a low voice, but he didn't sound convincing.

"All the world is the concern of the Maker," said Leliana. "And we are his instruments. Nothing is beyond our notice, and everything is within our scope. So tell me, Cullen, where did Hawke go?"

His breath came fast and labored, and Cassandra wondered if she should have worn her sword. Too late now. But she might be able to take him, hand-to-hand, if she had to. He was powerful, broader and stronger than she was, but he was also sleep-deprived, and she had the power to cause him considerable pain through his lyrium if it came to it. Still, she would not strike the first blow.

Cullen didn't look at her as he slowly sat back down, fixing his gaze on Leliana. "I don't know. She didn't tell me. We weren't lovers by the time she left, hadn't been for some time," he said. He looked down at his hands and spoke as though by deep effort. "She was at the Gallows often after she moved here, more than most civilians. I learned later it was out of fear for her sister, an apostate she sheltered. But after the sister died in the Deep Roads she kept coming back. Running errands, or just to talk. I was flattered by her notice and her deference. She was beautiful and clever, and by then she was a woman of standing who could have whom she liked. It seemed impossible it would be me. Of course, I didn't know that she was looking to subvert the Templars, to curb Meredith, to gain access to the Circle through me."

Cassandra's heart clenched at the shame that was etched into his face, alongside the bone-deep weariness, the burden he'd carried as he carried so much else. Too much love led to too much pain. She could have told him. But he still stared at his scarred hands, and she didn't speak.

"We did become lovers, for a time. I was one of many, I understand now. But after Anders and the Chantry, even after she sided against the mages to restore peace, I broke it off. We had too much responsibility, it was too close to fraternization, and I no longer trusted her in any case. We worked together, but we weren't close. She wouldn't have confided in me where she went," he said. He looked up again, directly into her face. Fear and resignation blended in ugly mosaic with the shame. "I swear to you that when we were together I never told her anything, never gave her any access that anyone couldn't have had. We only met in the courtyard, or in the city. She never came to my quarters, not once. I swear it, Seeker."

"Peace," she said, her voice finally working again. It was clear he didn't expect her to believe him, which was most of the reason she did. The rest of the reason she tried not to examine too closely. "I trust in your honor. We're not here to pass judgment on your personal activities, Cullen. While your actions had consequences, they were not foreseeable, and the same could be said for most of us. There is no rule against a Templar being human."

He seemed confused at her words, and she put as much reassurance into her voice as she could. "We only ask for the truth to whatever questions we pose."

"But bear in mind that we will know when we don't receive it," said Leliana, unyielding.

He looked between them and frowned. "I don't understand. If you aren't here to relieve me of my position, to discipline me, then why are you here?"

Cassandra stared at him, bewildered. "We told you."

"The Divine doesn't send both of her Hands somewhere for routine information gathering," he said, and Cassandra cursed his intelligence. "I don't care how important Kirkwall was to the war's beginning."

"What you consider to be worth our time is no concern of ours," said Leliana dismissively. "But we are not here for your job, only your information."

The skepticism didn't lessen, but he responded to the finality in her voice. "Very well. As I said, you're free to go where you choose. If you travel in Lowtown or Darktown, take an escort squad, particularly at night. I can arrange for you to go on patrols with my men as well. We've somewhat taken on overall security for the city given the smaller number of mage charges we have," he said.

He sighed. "And there is another here who knew Hawke well, if that's of interest to you. A dwarf, Varric Tethras. Something of a businessman in the city. You'll find him at his bar in Lowtown. I can take you to it, if you like. But I warn you that he'll only lie to you, and lie well."

Leliana smiled. "We're well-equipped to deal with lies, Knight-Commander. It's too early for bars yet, but we will go this afternoon to see if this dwarf can be found," she said. She stood with a tiger's grace. "In the meantime, I will go to the site of the old Chantry and pay my respects. Cassandra wishes to inspect the security here, and the site of the final battle for the city. Please meet me at two at the Kirkwall docks."

She left without waiting for a response, and both of them stared after her. Cassandra cleared her throat and stood, slightly off-balance. Cullen rose behind her and said in a quiet voice, "She's rather more… formidable than I remember."

"One doesn't become the Left Hand without a certain strength of character."

"True. Still, she wasn't quite so ruthless Ferelden. Which is strange to say about a person fighting a Blight, but it's true," he said. "I suppose time wears on us all." He laughed suddenly, and Cassandra turned to look at him. "She reminds me a little of Hawke, actually."

Unsurprising. Men generally had a type, and dangerous beauties were so often it. Cassandra offered men a straightforward proposition, a heady and passionate affair of the heart and bedroom that they frequently took, but she had no real skill at seduction. Her determination and bluntness had its own allure, she was well aware, but she'd never been called a femme fatale. So it was good, in this case, that she had such a tight grip on her emotions. Love was always love, but it was less fulfilling when it was only her, alone.

Cullen looked lost in his thoughts as he stared at her without seeing. She tried to guess at his musings as a faint smile played around his lips. Likely remembering the loves he'd had, and imagining the ones he would have. How very annoying that she couldn't be one of them.

"I'm sorry that was necessary," said Cassandra, uselessly. Just to keep talking to him a little more. Just to be alone with him for another minute.

He snapped back into focus, blushing, and ran a hand through his hair. "I understand. It was a lapse in judgment to be involved with anyone so unconventional, and it was wrong of me to hide it, no matter how much I wanted to remain at my post. And I thank you for your kindness," he said. He quirked a smile. "Regardless of the sentiments' origin. I've performed interrogations too often not to know the roles you were playing, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless."

Cassandra knew better than to tell him she'd had no idea what Leliana would do. She almost never did, which is how the bard liked it. Cassandra playing no role, while Leliana played all of them. She shrugged and made to leave. "I will join you at the boat this afternoon to meet Leliana."

"I look forward to it," said Cullen, and the sincerity in his voice gave her fluttery pause. Then her mind caught up to her heart. To meet Leliana. Of course he looked forward to it.

She was at the door when he called out to her. She turned with raised eyebrows to see him smiling once more. Not that heart-stopping grin, but a gentle amusement that erased much of his weariness. "I must admit that if someone had asked me to assign the Hands to interrogation roles, I never would have picked Leliana as the fist and you as the glove."

She wondered if he was complimenting or insulting her. Safer not to ask. "Perhaps that is why we team so well together," she said.

His face didn't change. "Perhaps. You're both very surprising women," he said. He shifted and rubbed his hand over the desk. "I hope before you've gone I'll finally know what you're truly like."

Cassandra snorted. "I am exactly as I seem. As for Leliana, I will make no such assurances."

* * *

Leliana had more or less given her an order to poke around the Gallows, and while Cassandra suspected it had been some sort of excuse to push Cullen's attention on the bard's intended target, the trouble with working with the Left Hand was that it could easily be more. So Cassandra dutifully wandered the officers' wing, the foot soldier's barracks, the public spaces, and even the converted rooms where the civilians lived. She saw nothing out of the ordinary. But of course, that was hardy surprising. Anything amiss would surely be in the mage's quarters, and that was the only place she avoided.

She frowned. It seemed she'd avoided the mages almost too well. She hadn't seen a single one in hours of exploration. Were they too afraid to leave their quarters? Or trying to escape her notice? Something to ask Cullen.

Or perhaps not Cullen. The person in charge either knew everything or nothing at all, and either way she couldn't rely on his answers. But it would be a reason to knock on the door to his office, to go back in and see his eyes lift, the corners of his mouth draw up in a welcoming smile, and enjoy just a little more of that lovely warmth he constantly emitted.

Foolish. Foolish and unworthy and not at all profitable. She turned away from the solid wood door she'd only happened to be walking past and went to the courtyard where Hawke had battled Meredith, to look for whatever hints Leliana expected her to find.

* * *

The old Knight-Commander had never left the Gallows, and her strange statue still dominated the space. Someone had placed a ring of stones around it, like a barrier, though it was hardly necessary. The thing was unpleasant to look at, and the thought of touching it even more so. Some of the Templars who'd gone mad said that the red stone had spoken, sang, in a strange voice, but if that had ever been true it was silent now.

Cassandra gave up on it quickly. The best scholars in Thedas had been dispatched to examine whatever this was and had come away with no answers. She was no lyrium expert, beyond recognizing the feel of it in someone's blood, and this was a dead thing with no connection to anything she knew. And Hawke had cared even less about the lyrium, by all accounts. She'd find no answers there.

Instead she settled cross-legged on the flagstones and tried to absorb the feeling of the place. Her eyes fluttered closed as she pushed her self away. She imagined Hawke, brash and powerful. Maybe a little afraid, but only a little, because she'd beaten everything, and this would fall before her as well. Hawke was confident, a rogue with a demon's smile who'd risen from pauper to Viscountess, who'd worked with smugglers and princes and pirates and the bloody Qunari themselves. She killed rulers and charmed peasants and the world was at her feet.

Meredith would have been nothing to a woman like that, lyrium-crazed or not, possessed or otherwise. Her allies had been loyal to the point of their own madness, risking everything for her vision. Cassandra didn't know everything about them, not by a long shot, but she knew enough to know that they were not the sort of people easily won. And yet they had been. Even Cullen, that upright and dutiful Templar, had turned on his commanding officer at Hawke's order.

Cullen's presence in the exercise threatened to overwhelm her thoughts, but she focused back on her true target. Marian Hawke. Cassandra could almost see her here, bloody and defiant and exhausted. She could have run from the whole mess. She'd stayed. She'd killed Anders without a thought. For justice? Or to keep her allies close? What kind of woman was she really?

And why would she leave a year later? Surely not fear. She wasn't a coward. She took responsibility. She was in the center of things, and the city had adored her. She liked adoration.

That thought was promising, and Cassandra followed it. Someone who needed adoration, to be the hero. Was Viscountess not heroic enough? It was hard work instead of glory. And she'd had several lovers before the mage rebellion, if Cullen could be believed. Did she not have enough to suit? Surely becoming the ruler of the city had only opened those doors, not closed them.

Cassandra sighed and shook her head. There was something she didn't understand. She didn't have enough pieces yet. Perhaps this Tethras would give her what she needed.

"What are you doing?"

She jumped and grabbed at the dagger she'd fastened to her belt before her explorations began. It refused to budge, and she spent several moments wrestling with both it and her galloping heart. This was a place of people. Of course she wasn't alone. But that didn't mean she'd expected someone to be there, watching.

Of course, on further examination, there were nearly a dozen people in the shadows of the courtyard, Templars and servants, watching her from behind pillars. They melted away quickly when her gaze swept over them, and she hoped they'd gotten the entertainment they craved.

When she finally turned, giving up on the weapon, she expected whoever had startled her to be grinning smugly. It was her experience that whenever someone had gotten the better of her, whether because she was a Seeker or a woman, they became almost insufferable. Instead Cullen was staring at her with undisguised concern.

"Maker's breath, did I scare you? Are you okay?"

"Sneaking up on people usually results in fear, yes," she said grumpily, clambering to her feet.

He circled her warily. He'd changed into clothing that was only slightly less worn than his earlier clothing, and the stubble that had marked his jaw was gone, revealing the smooth strength that lurked there. She tried very hard not to stare.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't even think I could frighten you."

"It's no matter. I will recover." She looked up at the sky with effort and frowned. "Am I late?"

"Ah, no. No, not as such. But I went down to the mess, for lunch." He lifted his hands at this point, both holding tied pouches. "And they said you hadn't been there yet, and I was worried you were lost, or wouldn't eat before we went, so I thought I'd bring you some. But you were just sitting there," he said, pausing. "What were you doing? Was it a Seeker thing?"

She smiled, taking the proffered bag. "No. Just for me. A form of meditation. To clear my mind." Which was true enough. She didn't have to say what she was then filling her mind up with.

"Oh. Well, I didn't mean to interrupt. I can leave you to it."

"I was finished," she said, shaking her head. "You interrupted nothing. Thank you for the lunch, it's very welcome."

When he didn't move, she raised an eyebrow. Cullen fiddled with the tie of his own pouch and looked past her. If she didn't know better, she would have thought he was nervous. "Do you mind if I eat with you?" he asked eventually. "If I'm not an intrusion. I'd like to know more about your Order. It seems the sort of thing a Templar officer should know."

She smiled inwardly at his transparency. He obviously wanted to get more information out of her about the Divine's goals here, in case they still involved him. Or his job. He would be disappointed in his attempts, of course, but it would be a pleasant diversion. But she shouldn't make these kinds of requests too easy on him. "I would have thought your workload would be too much, especially with an unscheduled trip to Kirkwall planned."

Pink lines slashed across his cheeks. "Oh, no. There's nothing that won't keep."

Maker's breath, what a terrible liar he was. She wondered if he played cards. "Cullen," she said severely, and he shifted his weight. "Your honesty is required."

"Fine," he said, sighing. "I have far too much work to do and far too little time to do it. Nevertheless I would rather eat with you than chip slivers off of an endless mountain."

She laughed. "A very honest answer. But I would feel guilty taking you from something more important," she said. Cullen nodded, clearly disappointed, but he perked up when she continued, "Perhaps we can reach a compromise. I will return to your office and help you with what I can, while we eat and talk."

"As you wish, though it sounds like I get the much better end of that compromise," he said, grinning. This one was lopsided and conspiring, one that invited her into a secret, and she bit her lip. How many different expressions did this man have to make her weak? "It will be very boring, I have to warn you."

"Oh, I don't know," she said, stepping closer to him. A little flirting wouldn't hurt anyone, after all. "I think you could make anything more interesting."

His eyes widened, and he spun around hurriedly, but not before she saw the flash of awareness she'd needed. She followed him quietly, leaving well-enough alone, but as they climbed the stairs back to the piles of paperwork, she let herself savor the tiny spark of fire inside her heart.


	4. Sea Voyage

Throughout lunch Cassandra wavered between enjoying and chastising herself as they worked through the staggering number of tasks waiting for Kirkwall's Knight-Commander and ersatz ruler. Fortunately he'd done nothing to follow up on her impetuous flirting, treating her, if possible, with even more of the guarded consideration he always had. With luck, he would set it entirely aside as his own hallucination.

She'd begun to relax by the end, simply doing the work, an odd sense of peace rising up among the violently scattered belongings of the room. She had no skill at running a city but she could manage guard rotations, and his beautiful, grateful smile as she set them aside with speed was a worthy reward.

Then he'd changed from his working clothes to a set of fitted leathers for their journey, and it had taken everything in her to turn aside.

But she did. She would continue to do so. No temptation had ever overwhelmed her since she joined the Seekers, and it certainly wouldn't now. Not when Leliana was here. Cassandra didn't participate in love triangles.

She stopped by her room to swap out her dagger for a sword and don her own armor before making her way to the docks, where Cullen waited by the boat. The empty boat. She stood uncertainly on the pier, looking for the attractive boatman they'd had the day before. When she saw him resting in the shade of the wall, he only waved.

She turned around again, and Cullen was sitting inside, hands on the oars.

"Are you getting in?" he asked. He sounded far too amused for her liking.

Cassandra gazed doubtfully across the harbor. "You will row both of us? Alone?"

"Well, I can only row both of us if you're actually on it," he said, eyes twinkling. "But please untie that back rope first."

She did as he requested and stepped gingerly inside. The metal of her armor was a second skin, something she often forgot she was wearing, but balancing with it atop a floating craft was still an unlearned skill. Cullen kept them even-keeled with the ease of long practice until she took her place across from him, then untied the remaining rope and pushed them away. He rowed with a smooth stroke, and soon they were setting a fast pace across the water.

"It's a long distance," she said, watching him for signs of potential fatigue as his arms worked in steady ellipticals.

"It is."

"But you do not require any assistance?"

"I don't."

His curt answers would have been bordering on rude if his eyes weren't so alight with suppressed laughter. "Are you showing off?" she asked.

Then he did laugh, a barking sound that skimmed over the water as easily as they did. "Why, are you impressed?"

She pretended to consider. "No. You have not yet reached your objective," she said.

And there was that grin, that maddening, Maker-blasted grin. "Fair enough," he said, breathing out words during strokes. "Don't worry. I do this often. Commanders. Don't get to. Train enough. They allow. Me to row. Myself on. Trips to Kirkwall. To keep in shape."

Each fragment was punctuated with a flex of his forearms that showed the undeniable results. "It seems to be working," she said.

He mouthed thanks, then fell to silence as he focused on the work. And that was fine with her. She was already falling back into the rhythms of flirtation, and it was irritatingly unlike her to be so uncontrolled. The more they talked the more she said things that couldn't be unsaid. The feelings of light under his gaze weren't only single bursts, now - they were a fusillade of sparks through every part of her, blazing far too high for comfort. She was growing desperate to fall fully in love with this man. The one small comfort was that he seemed uninterested in the entire process.

She shook herself. Focus. Ignore the man breathing in harsh, ragged breaths across from her. Look across the water, at the ships creaking and groaning as they rocked in port. Goods transferred off, money transferred on, the bustling life of a city a year after a mage's knife had sliced through its heart. Cities were more resilient than people, and Kirkwall was living proof. Hawke had done well here, showing a knack for ruling that belied her rumored irreverence and disdain for responsibility. She'd even inspired stability in nearby Starkhaven, a place that had seemed ripe for civil war, merely by finding the right man to steer to its center and unravel it all.

Hawke placed her finger unerringly on history's weak points. She had to be their Inquisitor. No one else could rebel so cleanly.

Cassandra absently touched the plait that circled her head. Strange to think that she would become an insurgent, if Justinia's efforts failed. It was a necessary rebellion, she was certain, but there were trapdoors lurking under their feet, and she felt them creaking like the docked ships that drew ever closer.

Cullen grunted softly, and she looked at him, concerned. He didn't acknowledge it. He hardly seemed to know she was there, his eyes boring into his knees with a furious determination. The tension in him was nearly unbearable, a string pulling tighter and tighter until it seemed impossible it could hold. A sharp line creased his forehead as he strained against the drag of the water over the oars, and his mouth was drawn into the thin grimace of a man bleeding out on the battlefield.

She felt a sudden rush of sympathy. He couldn't be more than thirty, younger than her, and he hadn't been young for a very long time. He would certainly never be again.

Beads of sweat tracked down his hollowed cheeks, tracing the contours of his face to disappear down the curve of his neck and into his leather cuirass. She glanced up. The early rain had given way to oppressive afternoon clouds, and belatedly Cassandra realized how hot it was, and how little his armor breathed. The humidity was stifling, a wet cloth blanketing the world, and Cullen would collapse at this rate. He had to remove it.

She'd begun to stretch her hand towards the body that moved like the waves when she froze. Maker save her, was she really planning to undress him?

Too easy to see her fingers catching on the buckles that kept the armor snug against him. Too easy to imagine working her hand underneath the leather to pull and twist it away from the burning flesh beneath, to free him from the constraints that his clothing afforded. Simple to keep going, to run her hands over what she'd revealed to keep it burning, but this time for her. Intoxicated and light when she captured his lips each time he began another stroke. Snarling and impatient when he hauled away, until he came back to meet her sloppily, hungrily, even as he never broke pace.

How would he react if she wasn't across from him but on him, straddling his lap while he propelled them across the water? His hands would be trapped and occupied, and she could explore and tease to her heart's content. Cullen was likely a quiet lover - most Templars were - disciplined and restrained even in the grip of desire. She knew how to manage that. So easy to see his jaw working in mute agony as she slid her hands over his hard body, eyes closed in worship as his hips rocked against her own. So trivial to draw out pleas until his voice was no longer baritone but desperate bass rumbling her name. Whispering that he needed her, only her, to complete him.

Heat shot through her core at the half-heard sound, tingling and wrong, and she lowered her hand quickly. Not the armor, then.

Instead she looked behind her and found a water flask. She twisted to reach it and unstopped it quickly, holding it in the sightline of the laboring Templar. The furrows on his brow cleared as he blinked his way back from wherever he'd been, and he nodded gratefully. She could still only catch his lips on the coiled part of his stroke before he danced away, but she poured water into his mouth each time he drew near until he nodded once more and she put it away.

It wasn't the same as her mouth, but it was what he'd needed.

Once they reached the harbor proper their pace slowed, and she called out obstacles when needed to save him constantly turning around. She knew she was supposed to use starboard and port to signal direction, but truthfully she'd never understood them, and she settled for pointing. From the exasperated look in his eyes he was planning to explain them to her as soon as he caught his breath. She would let him.

Leliana was waiting on the pier, implacable and unmistakable, and Cassandra made sure to tell Cullen as soon as she saw her. He smiled briefly, then turned his attention back to steering around a pair of fishing boats that couldn't decide whether to stay or leave.

A couple of sailors also waited when they arrived at the bard, and one of them smiled broadly as the boat kissed the pier. He grabbed the rope Cullen tossed him and guided them to a nearby post. "Came in hot on that one, didn't you Commander? Saw you leaving the Gallows and thought you'd be taking a breather halfway through. Wish I'd thought to time it. Pretty sure you set a new record, or damn near enough. They feeding you Templars something new over there?"

"Of course not. We haven't updated the menu since the Order was founded," said Cullen cheerfully. His breathing was back under control, the punishing tension gone, and he reached into the harbor to splash a palm full of water over his face to remove a portion of the sweat. "Must have just been a good day for it."

His carefully neutral face wouldn't have fooled a child. "You _were_ showing off," said Cassandra, crossing her arms over her chest plate.

"Mmmm. Came close to heat stroke to do it, too," he said, tying off the second rope. "Thanks for the water."

He stood without waiting for an answer and hopped onto the wooden planks in a single, graceful movement. She was much more cautious, which seemed to work against her as she corrected for every tilt of the boat.

Cullen, Leliana, and the sailors all watched her try to tame the unceasing movement of the wood with varying degrees of amusement on their faces. "Maker, Cassandra, you're a terrible sailor," said Leliana eventually.

"I have not yet fallen in, have I?"

"But you will have to sleep, I believe, if you stay there all day, and laying down may be your doom," said the smiling sailor.

She growled as she focused on her feet. She would master this. But eventually the man sighed and grabbed at her, grasping her firmly on the wrist. He pulled her up with a terrifying speed that seemed to stun the boat into stillness as she left it. She suddenly found herself on the dock, pressed flush against the suspiciously helpful man.

He didn't let go.

The sailor grinned when she lifted an eyebrow. "One of the perks of helping beautiful women reach shore."

"You realize I'm wearing armor." He would hardly be able feel a thing of her, except for her bare hand.

"Somehow makes it better. Imagine you'd feel even softer underneath," he said with a quick wink. It should have been off-putting, but the man's voice held a note of self-awareness that kept her from striking him. Whatever else he was, he had the gift of charm.

But her heart didn't gallop, and she felt no stirring of attraction. This wasn't for her. She stepped back easily with a word of thanks, and the man shrugged as though to say, _Can't blame a man for trying._

She turned back to Cullen, to thank him as well for his effort, but the words died on her lips when she saw Leliana's arms around his neck. The woman was on her very tip-toes to reach his height, and she was gazing up at him with studied sorrow. "I'm sorry for what happened in your office. I shouldn't have been so forward."

The second sailor watched them sudden interest, not even trying to hide his leering, and if Cullen's face hadn't already been red from the exertion, Cassandra knew it would have high color on it once more. His hands settled on Leliana's waist gently. It was hard to believe the powerful arms that had propelled them here could be so tender. "I understand. You were doing your job."

"Nice work if you can get it," muttered the man behind her, and Cassandra turned to glare at him. He saluted and grinned again, turning away to help another boat land.

She took her time re-facing her companions, cursing herself, cursing the world, cursing every single unheeded instinct that had told her to keep away from this. A dull ache settled in her stomach when she ran out of curses. What in the Maker's holy name had she been thinking?

By the time she'd finished the rotation, Cullen was giving Leliana a light hug. When they were through, he stepped away and cleared his throat, studying the city intently. "Shall we go? The Hanged Man is this way."

"Why are you going to risk them in a bar like that, boy? Keep your catches in your own net," said the second sailor, and he laughed when the Templar spun on his heel and walked away.

Cassandra followed slowly, letting him gain some obviously needed distance. Leliana caught her elbow as she passed and whispered, "I hope you appreciate this. It isn't easy."

"Yes, I can see how difficult that must have been for you," said Cassandra under her breath. "Stop torturing the man and give him what he wants."

Leliana laughed loudly, a musical sound that pierced the noise around them like one of her arrows. Even through his armor Cassandra could see Cullen stiffen ahead of them, though he didn't turn around. "Oh Cassandra, you really are an innocent. This game requires a little torture."

"There are days when I think Justinia must have been mad to elevate you to such a position of responsibility," said Cassandra grumpily. "You are clearly lacking the moral sense the Maker gifted to the rest of us."

"The Maker is mysterious," said Leliana. "But He would never condemn a little immorality for the sake of a good cause."

* * *

The streets of Kirkwall weren't nearly so tarnished as she'd feared from people's descriptions. They weren't prosperous, but they were clean, and outside of the smell of the spoiling harbor she scented little garbage or even the beginnings of it. People smiled and held their heads up, even if their hands stayed near their coin purses in crowds. All in all, no different from Denerim, or even Nevarra City.

When she said as much to Cullen he only said, "It's daytime."

When they reached their destination, however, it more than exceeded her expectations. The Hanged Man was dilapidated, its facade made of crumbling stone and a peeling coat of what had once been red paint, giving the whole building the look of a rotted apple. Cassandra half-expected to see a giant worm rising up out of the roof like smoke from a chimney. At the least, she was certain the interior was a cocktail of disease.

"People drink in there?" she asked, truly baffled.

Leliana smiled thoughtfully, and Cullen shrugged. "Tethras is a businessman. You'll see."

The inside was no less grimy, though it was at least dimly-lit in the corners to disguise the fact. They also disguised the occupants of the tables, who tended towards large and armed. It was a dive, plain and simple, and had she been traveling on her own she would have turned around and left immediately. And she knew how to kill people, intimately.

She stared around her, trying to see the sense in a business like this. It was true the place was oddly alluring, if you looked at it long enough. It felt dangerous and shadowy, almost thrilling. Cassandra's hand touched her sword, confused, and Cullen moved into a careful flank. But when she looked over he was still smiling, and he didn't seem alarmed or even aware of his movement. She wondered if he even understood the guard he carried inside of him.

Leliana suddenly let out a low laugh, and Cullen nodded when she caught his eye. They shared some moment of understanding together, and Cassandra scowled. She was being made to look foolish. Again.

"What?" she finally asked, when neither of them said anything.

"It will be better if you see for yourself," said Leliana carelessly, then moved to claim a table and kicked up her feet. "You can't expect us to do all the work for you, Cassandra."

Cassandra took the seat across from her and glared, but the Orlesian ignored her. To her surprise, Cullen slid into the chair next to her and leaned in. "Look at the long table by the fire," he said in a low voice, nodding his head helpfully.

She did, not bothering to hide her scrutiny. "Yes. A table of thugs," she said. There were a dozen men and women drinking out of large steins, muscles bulging and dancing under ripped shirts. They were typical stock, laughing and pounding the table whenever a particularly loud belch emanated from one of their members. They wore daggers and swords on their hips, bows across their backs, and they were clearly settled in for the duration.

Cassandra frowned as she studied their boots. Well-made. Not the standard cast-offs a common enforcer could garner. "Or mercenaries, perhaps. Successful ones, by their coin earned or their kills' wealth."

"Look at the tie of the swords," said Cullen, even nearer to her ear, and she fought the shiver that ran through her as she stared at something completely unremarkable. They'd tied a common knot at the sheath, slinging them low on their hips. She was about to turn back to ask what game he was playing, when she suddenly saw.

The ties were keeping the swords safely inside their fastenings. No one would be drawing a weapon from that table.

Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the smaller tables, the quieter ones with the wealthy men dressed for danger, their simpering ladies with wide eyes as the room rattled and shook. A particularly inventive swearing contest was beginning at the bar, and those tables shrank back and pulled closer all at the same time.

She laughed then, too, and turned back to Cullen and Leliana to see their pleased smiles. "It's a show," she said. "Entertainment. Nothing is real."

"Everything in this world is real," said a smooth voice behind her, accents unmistakably dwarven. "Even the cardboard at the back of a stage is real. But this is more. Entertainment is such a shallow word. I prefer 'experience'."

Before she could turn around, the owner of the voice had circled to take the place beside Leliana. He was the right height and had the right attitude to be a dwarf, but something about him seemed off until she realized his square jaw was completely bare. Instead he wore a low-cut shirt that had seemingly caught the hair he'd removed above it. She must have been staring, because he rubbed a finger along the smooth skin under his mouth and smiled. "I never quite got the hang of grooming it."

"Varric," said Cullen. He held out a hand in greeting, then blinked as it was immediately filled with a mug of ale from a silent server.

Cassandra and Leliana also found themselves holding drinks, and Cassandra sniffed hers carefully before taking a sip. The glass was cracked and chipped, but the inside was clean. The ale itself was rough but good quality. More set-dressing.

"You're getting the medium-grade stuff," said Varric. "Haven't graduated to the best, yet, but I have high hopes for you." He leaned back with a considering look. "So, Curly. Didn't think I'd see you here again. To be honest, it wouldn't have broken my heart if I hadn't. But I'm always happy when a man brings a beautiful woman to my bar. Even if it's you. And it's even better when you bring a spare."

He slashed a lopsided grin at Leliana, who giggled lightly, then another at Cassandra, who tried to give the impression she could dent his thick skull from this distance quite easily.

His smile only intensified. "And they're both a delight. So, just come in to soak up the ambiance, or did you have another goal?"

Cullen started to speak, but Cassandra overrode him. "We came here to ask question and get answers, not banter like flirting barflies, Messere Tethras."

Leliana snorted into her drink, and Varric drummed his fingers on the table. "No need to break out the fancy manners here _m'lady_. Varric is just fine…" He trailed off and gave her an expectant look.

"Seeker Pentaghast," she said.

"Leliana," said the other woman, setting down her empty glass. "I assume the drinks are on you?"

"Not if you keep downing them like that!" said the dwarf, winking. "I do have to turn a profit, you know." At Cassandra's warning growl, he settled his face into a solemn expression. "Answers. Those I have in spades, though they may not always be the answers you want. It depends on the questions, doesn't it?"

"We've been warned of you, Varric," said Cassandra. "The truth only."

The dwarf shot an amused glance at Cullen. "I pride myself on serving nearly every drink known to the Marches here, and most known to Thedas, but I'm afraid truth is a vintage I've never stocked. Not without being mixed with a liberal dollop of embellishments."

"They just want to know about Hawke," said Cullen. He hadn't touched his own drink. "Where she is, or what you know about where she might be."

Varric went still. "Well that will be a fast conversation," he said casually. "I don't know, and I have no idea. Thanks for stopping by, don't forget to take a crack at the arm-wrestling before you leave."

Before he could hop off of his chair, Leliana's hand gripped his shoulder. "Now, Varric, I feel we're all friends here. At least, I hope we are. I certainly feel we are something, and if we aren't friends then we must be enemies," she said in a deliberately sweet voice. Her other hand reached over her own shoulder to draw an arrow from the quiver she wore. "I do hate to make enemies. It's quite distressing. Though, fortunately, my enemies never seem to trouble me for long."

Only a small bob of his Adam's apple betrayed the dwarf's nerves. "Seeker, you're not going to let her talk to me like that, are you? Your noble Order would never allow such coercion."

Cassandra took a sip to hide her smile. "The Right Hand of the Divine controls everything except the Left, I'm afraid."

"You're from the _Divine_? Andraste's dimpled ass, what is Hawke mixed up in this time?"

Cassandra only shrugged, waiting. Varric gave her a pleading look. "Doesn't it matter to you that I gave you a free drink? Out of the kindness of my golden, roguish heart?"

"If I found you at all charming, perhaps it would. But I do not."

Cullen covered his burst of laughter with a harsh cough, and Varric smiled. "You, I like. Fine, I'll talk to you. Red here, on the other hand, can go to the bar. You and Curly. Non-negotiable."

Leliana raised an eyebrow at Cassandra, and she shrugged. Cullen didn't get a vote, though by the way he shifted in his seat he didn't like the terms. Leliana leaned towards Varric, who leaned away carefully. "Are you buying my drinks, then?" she asked.

He gave her a speculative look. "How good are you with that bow?"

She drew at lightning speed, nocking the arrow she'd been toying with and sending it speeding across the tavern to land, trembling, next to the dart board. The patrons underneath the flight path gasped, scraping their chairs against the wood as they tried to retroactively escape it, but Varric looked unimpressed. "You missed, Red."

Leliana smiled and drew again. The second arrow split a shaving off the first before nestling next to it, and the table of mercenaries burst into applause and wolf whistles. "I didn't want to pay for any damages," she said, slinging her bow back into place.

Varric whistled. "Not bad. Bianca would be impressed. Okay, free drinks. Just sit at the bar and be menacing. Put your hood up," he said. He turned to Cullen and sighed. "Curly, just try to look a little less like you're late to choir practice at the Chantry."

Cullen grumbled and stood, but he didn't leave. Instead he bent his head close to hers and murmured, "If you need me, tap your finger three times on the table. I'll be watching."

She nodded but secretly doubted he'd be doing anything of the sort. At a bar with a tipsy Leliana, his attention would soon be much more pleasurably occupied. Lucky him.

As soon as the pair were settled on their stools, Varric leaned forward and took Cullen's drink. "So, Seeker. What do you want to know?"


	5. First Impressions

Cassandra eyed the dwarf carefully. What did she want to know? With someone whose mind worked in jagged circles, a straight path was often the best tactic, but something told her that it shouldn't be walked too quickly with this man. Instead of asking about Hawke, as he clearly expected, she asked, "Do you believe in the Maker?"

"Really? If the Divine sent her two top agents here to make sure I've been keeping up with the Chants, I have some suggestions as to how she could better use her resources," said Varric. He closed his eyes and recited, "'O Maker, hear my cry. Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest beds of beautiful Nevarrans.'"

She glared, and he opened his eyes to catch it with a grin. "Or something like that," he added.

"The Chants are not tools for flirting."

"Who was flirting? I'm simply proving my faith here, Seeker," he said. He paused and studied her. "Seeker is a strange first name, by the way."

"Yes, it would be," she said. "Who is Bianca?"

The mug in his hands dropped to the table with a thump. "Where did you get that name?"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "From you. You said she would be impressed by Leliana's skill with a bow."

"Oh. Right," he said. He coughed. "She's upstairs."

"Your… paramour lives here with you and yet you sit in the bar to banter with other women?" She didn't actually find it particularly offensive - she'd long since gotten used to the idea of true love - but she suspected the dwarf would expect it of her.

She was right. "I realize it's not one of your proper Andrastian relationships, but we make it work," said Varric. "She lays around until I need her, and when I need her she nails whatever men are in my way."

"Excuse me?"

His brief moment of discomfort was only a distant memory now. "She's my crossbow, Seeker. One-of-a-kind, and more dependable than the Maker when my back's against the wall."

She let that pass. "I suppose it makes sense that you would stand well away from any danger in a fight."

"If you're trying to make me angry, I'm afraid you've chosen the wrong tactics. I'm more than comfortable with my role in the world. To wit, superlative businessman, unparalleled storyteller, charming to the ladies and, of course, a man who fights from the back lines. When he fights at all." Varric took a sip. "It's usually best just to skip to the part where you're picking your enemy's pockets. Much less personal danger."

"I see."

He looked at her sharply. He still wore a grin, but she suspected that was a permanent fixture, and his eyes were thoughtful. "Do you see? I wonder. I've heard things about Seekers, you know. Never met one in the flesh until now, of course," he said. He raked his eyes over her, but it felt perfunctory. "But they say you can can see the truth of a man with a single glance. Is that true?"

"No. We are not gods. Only the Maker has perfect insight," she said. Under his steady stare, she relented. "But we may be quicker at sketching in the nature of a person than most."

"So tell me, what nature do you see in me?"

Cassandra pushed her drink to the side and pinned him with her gaze. "You have secrets. Your loyalty is hard-earned, but complete, whether it is to the Maker or to people. You are devout enough to not only know the Chants, but exactly how to twist them to the right level of irreverence. You're much too clever for your own good, and yet not clever enough to understand that honest is the wise thing a person can be. You love someone very deeply, a woman named Bianca, and she is gone but not dead. And you know a great deal about Hawke, but you will never tell me here. This bar is your greatest stage, and you'll always perform when you're on it."

Varric blinked as she tapped her finger three times on the table, and though she'd expected no result Cullen was there in seconds. She kept the surprise from her face and tried to look as stern as possible. "Knight-Commander. Please bring this man back to the Gallows for questioning."

"With pleasure," he said, and he sounded like he meant it. Cullen's hands on the dwarf's shoulders looked strong enough to keep a mabari in place.

The dwarf sighed. "Fine. Make it look good, at least. It will really boost my rep to be arrested by the head of Kirkwall himself."

"You're not under arrest," said Cassandra.

"Do you think they'll care? Hey, Red," he said, as Leliana drew up alongside them, "mind going to my room and picking up a few things? I have a hunch the Seeker's going to want the whole story, and Hawke is the longest story I've got."

Leliana rolled her eyes and nodded, and Varric gestured up the stairs with his head. "First door at the top. There are sacks you can use. Plenty of smallclothes, mind. And writing supplies. And grab the book that's sitting on top of the desk. Please," he added when she gave him a pointed look.

As the bard disappeared he turned back to Cassandra. "So, how did you know she wasn't dead?"

Cullen looked at her in alarm, and she shook her head. _Not Hawke_ , she mouthed. She looked down at the dwarf. "No one names an instrument of death after a dead lover, beloved or not," she said. Her eyes closed very briefly, hardly enough for anyone to notice, before she opened them again and set her jaw into a hard line. "It takes a living rage to be so cruel."

* * *

They stopped by the Amell estate on the way back, though both Cassandra and Leliana knew that they would find nothing there. Hawke wouldn't be so stupid. Nevertheless, they set to prising the boards from the front door. The Hands could afford no assumptions. Varric had denied the existence of any secret entrances, but even he didn't seem to think they would believe him. He protested his honesty anyway. Incessantly.

"Just keeping my hand in," he said when Cassandra grunted at him in annoyance. "Excellence only comes with practice, Seeker. What is your name, anyway?"

She didn't answer as Cullen ripped another board away. They stood well to the side and waited for him to clear them to approach. It was too bad his armor hid what was sure to be an exquisitely muscled back.

"Well, whatever your name is, your title's going to be Seeker Rutherford before long if you keep staring like that," said Varric with a grin.

She hastily moved her gaze to one of the darkened windows. "I am not staring," she hissed.

"Hey, did you know I'm an ordained Andrastian minister? There was a bit of a thing once, they needed a quick stand-in, I charmed a Grand Cleric and here I am," he said. "My fees are very reasonable."

"Ugh."

Leliana only giggled, the traitor. "Do not encourage him," said Cassandra. She considered. "The dwarf, that is. The other, you should be encouraging."

Varric laughed so hard he nearly choked. "Red would chew that choir boy up and spit him out in three seconds flat. Even he doesn't deserve that kind of end," he said. He waved a hand in front of his face as he recovered. "Wow. Okay. So, your name. I'm thinking Penelope. You seem like a Penelope."

"No."

"Gertrude? Frances? Alicia. Belinda. Cherie?" he said. "No, not Cherie. Cherie Pentaghast? Sounds like a sneeze."

"Be quiet."

"I can do this all day, Seeker."

"It's Cassandra," said Leliana with a wicked grin.

"Really?" The dwarf's eyebrows shot up. "Hm, Cassandra Pentaghast. Solemn. Elegant. Beautiful. Easy for a man to groan in the dark, too. I like it."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Your approval is neither sought nor appreciated."

"Yeah, but we both know that someone's is, don't we?"

Cullen chose that moment to walk back and declare the house open, and Cassandra had never been so grateful in her entire life to exit a conversation.

* * *

The house was empty and full of dust, and the only footprints they found were their own. When they opened up the ill-concealed secret door, Varric affected a look of total surprise. "That was a real security hazard! Thank Andraste's curvy bosom that no miscreants ever used it to attack Hawke's family when they lived here."

No one bothered to respond.

As they were leaving, past the empty kitchens and the library full of books that would fall apart before they were read again, Leliana murmured, "Maybe Hawke truly is a ghost walking dead halls."

Cassandra knew she said it to monitor Varric, to see how he reacted, but Cassandra found her own eyes falling to their Templar escort. His mouth tightened in defiance, and she wondered if he carried the former Champion in his heart, underneath it all. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he would someday name a weapon after her.

* * *

When they arrived at the docks, there was a certain amount of confusion as they settled on transportation.

"We have to take the small boat back," said Cullen patiently. "It's ours."

"But it will not fit us all," said Cassandra.

"I understand that. But Leliana's craft is also here. And the woman who rowed it." A handsome, human woman barely taller than the dwarf waved at her. "Between those, we'll have plenty of space."

She considered, frowning. "But where will the dwarf go?"

"The dwarf is right here," said Varric irritably.

"He's my prisoner. And Leliana can't hold a bow on him the entire way. He'll come with us," said Cullen.

"No!" said Cassandra, slightly too loudly. She'd seen the sudden gleam in Varric's eyes and knew he would tease them both the entire journey. "I mean, no, that would be too hard on you. My size and my armor, plus the dwarf, and you've already exerted yourself today."

An idea struck her. "Leliana should go with you. She is light. Varric and I can go in her boat," she said. She looked at the waiting sailor. "That won't be a problem, will it? I can probably row as well."

"Not a problem at all, lady," she said.

Cullen frowned. "Whatever you do, don't let her row. She's hopeless at the directions," he said. She flushed at the reminder of her ignorance, and he looked at her. "Seeker, if this is a judgment on my skills, or a censure for my earlier exuberance, I assure you that neither are necessary."

"No judgment. No censure. I trust you could propel an army should you need it," she said, and he smiled a little. "But just because a thing can be done doesn't mean it should be. This will preserve your body with no sacrifice."

"I suppose those are good tactics," he said, nodding reluctantly. His eyes sharpened. "Do you happen to play chess?"

She shook her head.

"Another thing I can teach you, if you'd like to learn."

She only shrugged, and they sorted out their traveling groups. Cassandra expected Leliana to argue with her, and was pleasantly surprised when the bard only nodded and dropped gracefully into the stern of the waiting boat. Leliana settled into her seat like a queen, and Cassandra thought, not for the first time, that the wrong Hand had been born to royalty.

Cullen seemed to think the same, bowing deeply before untying the ropes, stepping in, and pushing them away into the rapidly disappearing sunset. And so Cassandra found herself sailing back to the Gallows with a silent helmswoman and a scribbling dwarf, listening to snatches of half-heard conversation and laughter drifting across the water to where she sat, trying not to hear.

* * *

Varric complained about his sparse accommodations and the lock that only worked from the outside, but not too loudly. She'd asked Cullen to find some mediocre wine to give him, and there was plenty of food waiting as well. He was only partially a prisoner, and while she judged nothing would curb his desire to lie, at the very least she shouldn't exacerbate his natural stubbornness.

Before she could close the door, he tossed something to her. She caught it without thinking, then stared down at it in confusion. "It's a book."

"Not just any book!" said Varric. "That's a first printing of the new serial novel by one Varric Tethras, Kirkwall's foremost and most celebrated author."

"You are joking."

He looked wounded. "I'm not. I'm quite famous, you know. You've really never heard of me? _Hard In Hightown_ had a lot of popular appeal. Good reviews even in Orlais, and they hate crime fiction. Reminds them too much of their parties, I imagine."

"I'm sorry, I've never heard it discussed."

"Oh. Well, no matter. This is a perfect starting point for you. Good bedtime reading. That copy is yours to keep, Seeker. With my compliments."

"Thank you," she said automatically. Even now, the reflexive, childhood training was hard to remove. "Is it another crime story?"

Then he grinned wickedly, and she felt very afraid. "Not this time. This one's a romance."

* * *

She slipped into bed that night and stared daggers at the book on her nightstand. She'd considered hiding it, or even giving it away, but manners forbade it. And it would give her another point of commonality with Tethras, essential to all interrogations where force and intimidation were unlikely to succeed.

Sighing, she grabbed the book and turned to the cover page. The title was written in block print with a delicate filigree of lines surrounding the letters. _Swords and Shields_. And below, in a much more flowing script, she read: _For Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. May we soon be each other's number one fans._

"Ugh."

The word was loud in the quiet room but she felt better for expressing her disgust.

Leliana and Cullen had disappeared into the Orlesian's room again for more reminiscing. They'd tried to insist that she join them, but Cassandra would rather read a thousand romance novels than watch even a moment of their easy flirtations. And what reminisces could she share? The times she and Leliana had been holy? The memories of a brother bleeding out on a green field with blue poppies bursting across it like the sea?

No. She would read this book. She might hate every minute of it, but there were worse things than hate.

* * *

The days settled into a routine. She spent part of each morning with the Templars, at breakfast and in the training circle, and another part in Cullen's office, learning about his duties and the state of Kirkwall. He talked freely about the history of the Circle and its failings, about the Qunari invasion, and even about the horror of the war with Meredith. But he never talked about Hawke, and the wary look in his eyes kept her from asking. She didn't know what kept Leliana from asking - the Left Hand wasn't known for her sympathy - except that she might truly be falling in love with this man.

It seemed unlikely, given Leliana's temperament. Yet when Cassandra looked at Cullen, when he laughed or drew a hand along the steadily increasing scruff, a patch of darkness around his jaw that only enhanced his unfailing good looks, she thought it was the most likely thing in the world.

The rest of the days were given over to questioning Varric. He'd flatly refused to talk to Leliana. If the bard entered the room, he only hummed tavern songs absently until she went away. Cassandra suspected it was because Leliana would sense the lies, and know it, but at the same time they had no call to use force on him.

Leliana decided to track down this Bianca, instead. A Bianca among the dwarves was like looking for a specific dagger in a barrel of them, but if anyone could do it, she could.

So Cassandra went in alone and listened to his endless stories about the Champion of Kirkwall and her history with the city she would one day save. The city that had rejected her, feared her, then worshiped her. Varric made her wittier than a troupe of traveling performers, more beautiful than Andraste herself, and more skilled with daggers than any ten men, but that was all window dressing. Cassandra suspected that parts of the truth were slipping through.

Hawke had been too blessed in tragedy. Her brother had died to save her, then her sister had died to enrich her. Cassandra knew her mother had died as well, and though Varric hadn't yet reached that part of the story, she wondered if it, too, had been in service to the Champion. There was a thread of expectation to Hawke, and of anger, that she hadn't expected. And a spark of antagonism with her comrades, those loyal ones who'd risked their lives for a city that meant nothing to them, that she didn't understand.

Cassandra learned about her, or at least what Varric wanted her to think about her, and she spent the evenings trying to piece together the puzzle of where this woman could possibly have gone.


	6. Hall Monitors

Cullen was waiting for her when she came out of yet another round of Varric's storytelling. The dwarf was reaching the end of the tale, perhaps only a day or two left, and he'd gotten more candid in the telling. She suspected she might even get the unvarnished truth about Anders. Varric's hidden devoutness had given him a powerful grudge against the dead mage.

But Cullen distracted her from her musings. He was leaning against the wall, studying a thick sheaf of papers. It would be better for him to work , so she tried to shoo him back to his reading when he looked up. Instead he put them away and moved to her side as soon as the door clicked shut.

"Anything useful?" he asked. They fell into easy step as they walked back to the officer's wing, to her own room. Somehow talking to the dwarf always made her feel like she needed a nap.

"Perhaps. It's hard to know," she said, clenching her fist and releasing the tension as she breathed. "He sounds convincing when he speaks, and many things line up with public record of Kirkwall's recent history. But the parts that matter, the parts no one knows… who can tell? He may just be telling me what I want to hear."

Cullen nodded. "That's his specialty, I'm afraid."

"The worst of it is that I don't even know that what he tells me of Hawke's personality is real. He seems to consider her a bit of a charlatan. Or he wants me to consider her one," she said. She sighed. "I will have to think on it, but not now."

"Are you okay?" asked Cullen quietly, and she softened a little when she looked at his face. He was a good man, and he was becoming an even better friend. She'd come to rely on him over the last week of confusion and second-guessing. They'd had similar training, their faiths lived in the same places, and he was quiet and supportive no matter how late the hour or how exhausted he was. She tried not to take advantage of his selflessness, but she thanked the Maker for it anyway. Even over Leliana, Cullen was the person she could truly talk to about her thoughts around this endless, meandering interrogation.

All the more because he never suggested someone take the job of questioning out of her hands. They'd spent meals and conversations and even some evenings together, alone or with Leliana, talking about what she was learning and not learning, and he had never once seemed to think she was unequal to the task. No matter how it vexed her. It had the strange effect of relaxing her into acceptance of her frustrations, freeing her to express how fearful she was that she wasn't equal to what was needed. He never used it as opportunity to judge her.

But he did worry. "I'm fine, Cullen. Thank you for your concern," she said. He nodded, the bruises under his eyes dipping into a shaft of sunlight. She flushed at her lack of manners. "I should be asking if you are well."

"Kirkwall is still standing," he said, smiling. "And however I was before, I'm much better now that I'm here."

They walked in companionable silence until they reached her hall, and she suddenly said, "What do you think Hawke was like?"

His eyes widened. He said nothing.

Her fist tightened once more. "I know it is not a polite thing to ask. You've shied away from the topic, and I don't want to hurt you, but you knew her well. It might help me understand where to trust, with Varric."

"I'm not worried about politeness," he said. "You can ask me anything, Seeker. But I don't know if my answers will be any better than Varric's. They may be worse. I don't know that I knew Hawke at all. I just thought I did."

"But what do you think of her now?" she pressed. They'd reached her door, and she looked up at his eyes that suddenly seemed years away.

"I think she was afraid," he said after a long minute. He shook his head. "No. Not afraid. Uncomfortable. Wherever she went she was always the thing that drew your eye, the one person that could never be ignored, but it wasn't because she was special. Although I think she is special, in some ways. But she stood out because she didn't fit into the world. It was as though there was a part the rest of us had, some camouflage, that she was missing. It made her too visible for a quiet life. She could never do anything small. And that notoriety was its own kind of disguise. Everyone knew Hawke, but no one knew Marian. I think that's what destroyed Kirkwall, in the end. She'd pushed herself into a corner so tightly that she couldn't help but explode."

Cassandra didn't speak, letting him remember, studying his face as he stared at the wood above her head. "But for all that destruction I think she was a good person, underneath. Or she wanted to be. None of us is always good. She just didn't always see the chain that her actions would begin. And they always began something. I don't think she would have killed a spider under her boots, but she might have toppled a nation by giving a copper to a beggar. She was always kind to Anders. And he needed kindness. It was the good thing to do. The right thing to do. Until it wasn't."

A weary smile rose to his lips. "When I make an error in judgment, it just causes a headache and paperwork. She was too powerful, and she didn't have that luxury," he said. He sighed. "I spent so much time with her, for awhile, and I left every morning wondering who she truly was."

"You must love her very much," said Cassandra, trying to keep her voice steady.

That brought him back, and he looked down, suddenly present again. "No. No, I don't love her," he said. He stepped closer. "I don't want to talk about Hawke anymore."

Maker give her strength, he was close enough to kiss. Her heart sped up before the Maker had time to intervene. "Very well," she said. "Thank you for your insights."

Cullen laughed gently. "You're welcome."

He searched her face, and his gaze felt like warm fingers on her overheated skin. She reacted without thought, tilting her head back and parting her lips, knowing the pattern of this dance even while she knew it wasn't for her. He breathed in sharply and whispered, "Anything you need."

She closed her eyes just as his lips touched hers, and she felt it down to the balls of her feet.

Impossible that a man with a body so hard could have lips so soft. Impossible that a man with such a gentle spirit could be so forceful in his kisses. He didn't lay a hand on her, bracing his palms on the door to keep himself away, but his mouth left no doubt as to what he wanted from her. And oh did she want to give it to him. She opened her mouth to his tongue, and he swept it greedily inside before pulling away, nipping at her lower lip, then diving in again to claim her once more.

Every sensation, every place in the world narrowed to one point, the point where they touched. He took everything she gave him, without question, never hesitating to deepen when she offered or shallow when she countered with her own aggression. She was giddy and high, floating above herself like a feather, waiting, ready to fall. Here, in this place, with this man, there would be a love to carry her away once more.

And then there was another thought, light as air over skin. Leliana.

She was pressed against the door too firmly to move, so she wound her fingers into his hair and tugged at him gently to draw him away.

Instead of following the motion, he gasped into her mouth. He snarled, and another wave of pleasure rocked her as he took her mouth with indomitable power. He was covering her with his greater height, pressing around her with his strength. She was moaning and completely his and he'd barely even touched her yet.

"Cullen," she tried to say, but there was no space for the words in between them. They were so close, and she was losing herself. Soon there would be nothing left of Cassandra, just this snarled ball of need that he was tangling in her under the pressure of his talented, demanding mouth.

Her hand searched for the door latch, whether to escape or drag him inside with her she didn't know, but that small movement, that gesture, was enough to push him away. He looked down at her, pupils blown wide in a blend of lust and horror, and his voice shook when he spoke. "Oh Maker, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, I wasn't thinking. Not really," he said desperately, but before he could finish he was already moving his lips to her temple, tasting the skin there delicately. His arms were trembling over her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just couldn't… did I scare you?"

"No," she said, trying to slow her heart to its normal rate. "It was very enjoyable. I wasn't afraid. But -"

"I know," he interrupted quietly, cheek still resting against her hair. He kissed the top of her head softly, as though he couldn't bear to stop. "It's fraternization. It's not right."

She chuckled below him, and that finally made him pull back and stare at her. "There is nothing forbidden between Seekers and Templars, Cullen. It isn't encouraged, perhaps, but as I told you we are not here to evaluate you. And these days mostly I'm a Seeker in name alone."

"What then?"

Cassandra screwed up her courage. "Leliana."

He bit his lip ruefully. "Yes, I think she's already aware of my… attraction to you. She's very perceptive," he said. "Not that I imagine it took that much skill to read."

"No," she said firmly. "You and Leliana."

A look of utter disbelief crossed his face. "Me? And Leliana? Did she tell you that I… that we… Maker's breath, I would never!"

"But I've seen you looking at her!"

He hummed low in his throat. "I don't know what I was looking at, but it definitely wasn't Leliana."

His eyes were heated and molten once more on her, and she shivered under his stare. His long, light lashes fluttered above her as he blinked slowly. Once. Twice, and then his eyes were more than just heated. They were the eyes of a man who knew he'd won.

A smile crept across his face when she bit her lip, desperately trying to keep herself at bay. He leaned down once more to graze her cheek with his lips, tracing a slow line to her neck. "You smell delicious," he breathed, and she felt him smile when she made a noise in her throat. "What is it?"

"Soap," she said, voice high and thin. "From Nevarra."

"I always knew I liked Nevarra."

Cullen's rough baritone tingling over the shell of her ear was impossible to withstand, but she hadn't gotten her answers yet.

"Stop that," she said in more normal tones, and he complied, but he didn't move away. "You said Leliana was like Hawke. And you loved Hawke."

"Cassandra..." His voice was a plea, and the use of her name a weapon that slammed hard against her defenses.

She pressed her lips together mulishly, even though he couldn't see it. She would be sure of this ground. "I must know."

Cullen leaned back again with effort, fully separated but not releasing her from the prison of his arms. Only the tips of his fingers propped him up as he looked down at her. "I never loved Hawke. Even when I thought I was the only one in her bed, she made it clear that the bed was as far as we would extend. She didn't have it in her to offer more. I accepted it. I thought I might change her mind, at the beginning, but I never did. By the end I cared for her, but it was never love," he said. The lines on his face drew into regret.

His eyes were still warm even in their sadness, capturing her inside their concern. "Leliana is beautiful, and when I met her during the Blight, if I'd been less… troubled, and she less busy, I may have attempted something foolish. But it's been ten years. She's a very different woman than I remember. She's still beautiful but somehow never really there. And the parts of her that are Hawke are the parts that I couldn't abide."

"I don't understand."

He shook his head slightly. "The way her life is centered around the pivot of herself. And her inconstancy of personality. She changes from minute to minute, and she charms too easily for it to be real. I would never trust the ground under my feet, were we together, and I'm not one who enjoys the doubt of the chase."

"So you chose me in her place. As a substitute, because Leliana is too unstable."

"No!" he said quickly. He hissed out a breath. "Maker save me, I didn't choose at all. There was no choice. Cassandra, you're unbearably lovely. I saw only you, from the beginning. At dinner, that first night, there we were dining and pretending that our lives are some sort of party and you sat in your practical attire, fully yourself. Calm. Confident. Completely unburdened by anyone's expectations."

He laughed and ducked his head when she snorted. "You are the most… yourself person I've ever met. It's hard to explain," he said. "I felt so clumsy, trying to impress you with my manners, and then it turned out you were royalty. Whatever manners I've picked up along the way likely aren't even fit for your servants. I was certain I'd embarrassed myself beyond all recovery that evening. And, of course, you were here to take my job, and I didn't want you to think I was trying to bed you to save it."

She raised an eyebrow and he flushed. "A small part of me simply wanted you to get it over with so that I could beg you to see me as a man. If you ever could."

It was her turn to smile. "Oh, I certainly could," she said in a low voice. She reached out to rub her thumb along his jaw, and he closed his eyes as she stroked.

"Then I still had my job, and you were so kind about it. Not falsely kind, but genuinely caring and understanding. And honest about the cost of my failures. I've never been reprimanded so comfortingly, not since my mother. Though you are certainly not my mother, thank the Maker," he said.

She laughed, and he watched her once more.

"But I didn't know how to proceed. You're still a Seeker. And you didn't seem to hold any interest in even friendly intimacy with me," he said, smiling ruefully. "You wouldn't even allow me your name."

"If you kiss me like that again, you can call me any name you please."

He grinned, but there were still shadows in his eyes. "Are you sure? I'm not pushing too quickly?"

"Never. I have wanted you since we met," she whispered, and he moved a hand to the curve of her hip with a quickness that thrilled her. His fingers curled around her waist, holding her in place. Not that she'd been planning to go anywhere. She tried to gather her thoughts. "Cullen, what do you want of me? Do you want the bed? Or more?"

Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited for his reply. She would give him only the bed, if that was his need. There would be joy there, too. But the next weeks would be sheer pleasure in the grips of a true affair. A meeting of the souls, not just the bodies.

It seemed to take an eternity for him to consider, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he finally spoke. "I'm afraid to tell you how many things I want of you," he said quietly.

The aching terror in his voice was enough to be sure. She tumbled into the waiting ecstasy of love with a joyful heart and knew the next weeks would be glorious for them both.

Which didn't mean the kissing had to stop now. She pulled him down by his shirt collar and pressed her lips to his once more. This time she was in the lead, driving the pace, and he submitted to her with a low moan. When she wandered away from his mouth to plant kisses down his neck, he sighed happily. "This can't be real," he said. He laughed. "I can't believe you thought I wanted Leliana."

Cassandra shoved him, hard, without relinquishing her hold on him, and he pinned her against the door with his hips. His grip tightened on her waist, hard enough to leave the impression of his fingers on her skin, and without warning or word he stole back control. He pushed himself against her body, nipping and biting and sucking along her own neck until she was as painfully aroused as he was. His free hand kneaded the muscles of her shoulder in an endless, possessive wave.

No, there was nothing gentle about him when he wanted. She would make sure to keep him that way.

But not yet. She drew his mouth back to hers with firm pressure on his chin, and he backed away slowly from that demanding edge. They spent more time in shared kisses, giving and taking, pushing and pulling. Just existing. Them alone, falling together.

"Excuse me, ser," said a voice behind Cullen.

Cassandra jerked away, but Cullen only lifted his head a few inches. She expected him to be the color of a sunset, but he was perfectly composed. "Yes, Knight-Corporal?"

How did he know? She peered around him to see Lorel, their original guide, standing to very correct attention. "Pardon the interruption, ser, but the Seneschal is waiting to speak to you in your office. He said it was a matter of great consequence that couldn't be delayed."

Cullen's gaze never left her face, roving over it as though he was memorizing every spot and scar. "He says that about everything," he said loudly. "Believing him only encourages it."

"Yes ser. So I left him there for a while. But it's been an hour now, ser."

He sighed, and Cassandra nodded reluctantly at the question in his eyes. "Very well." He didn't push away, though, instead lowering himself to kiss her softly. "Will you be at the mess for dinner?"

She nodded again, too overwhelmed to speak.

"Good," he said. He grinned that wide, beautiful grin, and this time she reveled in the butterflies that danced under its power. "Wear your most practical clothing."

"Yes ser," she said in a deliberately low voice, and he groaned and kissed her again. This one wasn't nearly so gentle or chaste.

When he pulled away he was breathing hard, but he still didn't leave. "Cassandra, forgive me. You have to know something. Hawke and Leliana are both storms. They pass through and go without anyone remembering anything but the noise and the power. But you. I knew from the minute we first spoke that any man who was lucky enough to be what you want - " He broke off and gathered himself. "Any man like that would have something real to hold on to."

She murmured agreement as he brushed his lips against her forehead.

"He would have something deep." A kiss to her eyebrow.

"He would have something true." A kiss to her cheek.

"He would never have to compete for your love." A kiss to her lips once more.

"He might even be lucky enough to have something that lasted forever."

And then he pushed away, turning quickly and striding down the hall without looking back. Knight-Coporal Lorel trailed discreetly, but offered Cassandra a thumbs up and a grin before they disappeared around the corner.

Cassandra barely saw her.

Forever?

She slipped into her room and leaned back against the solid wood door in terror. Forever wasn't in the plan. It never had been. He was a garrison commander, dedicated to his work, used to women coming and going, never resting too long or wanting too much. That was the way this always went with the Templars. They were bred and trained to be transitory. They saw this moment, this dawn, and eternity only at the Maker's side.

They weren't supposed to be permanent, here in the world.

But her lips were still swollen from his kisses, her hip still felt the hungry pressure of his fingers, and other parts of her were crying out for the release she would have to seek alone. How could she step away now? And how would she avoid harming them both, if she didn't?


	7. Writer's Block

"Is something the matter?" Cullen asked as they walked back to her room that evening.

Leliana had begged off with a mischievous twinkle, saying she had to meet with a contact at the docks, and they were alone once more. Dinner had been awkward and uncomfortable, all the more so because it had been interspersed with so many shocks of pleasure. After she'd taken her seat, Cullen had sat next to her on the bench without any fanfare, kissing her sweetly before diving in to his meal and conversation with the rest of the long table. It had been so easy, so natural, that she'd found herself gripping his hand under the table before her mind had any say in the matter.

He'd shown her just the right amount of affection to prove his intentions, but not so much as to be embarrassing. He'd taken the good-natured ribbing of his men well, allowing them their fun at his expense, but shut them down quickly when the teasing drifted too close to Cassandra herself. And whenever she shifted in her seat, feeling the tension inside her boiling over, he'd squeezed her fingers lightly to calm her without looking.

The way the hard length of his thigh had felt pressed to hers hadn't been unwelcome, either.

In short he'd been a perfect gentleman, the type of man any woman dreamed of, including Cassandra herself. She would have been overwhelmingly giddy, if not for that word pounding through her skull like a smith's hammer.

Forever.

"If it was the men," said Cullen when she didn't answer, "they didn't mean anything by it. Not to you. They've been after me to date for a long time - I've lost count of the numbers of important meetings I've entered that held only a confused woman who said she'd been summoned for an audience - so they're a a little too smug about this. I think they believe a smitten commander will somehow be more slack in discipline." He smiled a little. "They might be right."

He sobered as he looked back at her. "But they like you. They do, almost as much as I do, and they'll apologize if they've made you uncomfortable."

Her skin was tingling from the word 'smitten', but she tried valiantly to ignore it. "No, they were fine. You handled them quite well, I thought. I can see why they follow you so loyally."

Cullen ignored the compliment. "Then what is it?" He took his hand away from her own, where he'd been rubbing tiny circles on her palm as they walked, and asked cautiously, "Have I done something improper? Or have you had second thoughts?"

Before she could answer his eyes widened in horror and he stopped walking. "That's it. Maker, you were just being polite. Trying not to embarrass me in front of my command. Oh Cassandra, I'm so sorry. I should have known that once you'd had time to consider…"

His face was agonized as he trailed off, and she knew he was on the cusp of turning on his heel and fleeing like a halla in the face of a hunter. She reached out and grabbed his sleeve to stop him before he could start. His sleeve made of a material that was only a shallow step down from his formal clothing the first night. Despite her own practicality, he was still trying to impress her.

"Cullen. Stop. We cannot speak together if you have already had five conversations before I've had the chance to have one."

He nodded, but there was so much fear in his eyes, in the shape of his brow and the set of his mouth, that it almost broke her heart. She stepped closer to lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. He didn't reach for her again, but he did relax a little.

"I was not being polite. I am not a polite person," she said. "I also do not lead men on into places where they have no hope."

"Of course you don't. I didn't mean to suggest -"

Cassandra put a finger to his lips, and he blinked at her. She smiled a little at his befuddled expression, then gathered herself once more. "I am very attracted to you. You are exactly the kind of man I, well, that I admire. But we have known each other only a short time, and this afternoon you spoke of an intimacy, a length of intimacy, that I am not prepared for."

There. As plain as she could make it that this would be blazing, but very, very temporary. If he couldn't accept that, she would walk away. It would cost her dearly, but to push where she was unwanted would cost even more.

She brought her hand down as embarrassment crossed his face. "I knew it was too far," he muttered, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "It's just that, well, Leliana had mentioned that there was a man in your past who didn't… treat you as you deserve. That he was a man who didn't remain faithful."

He misinterpreted her frown and hastened to add, "We weren't discussing you, not truly. She mentioned it only in passing and gave no details, no specifics of any kind. I'd hoped she was encouraging me, letting me know I had reason to hope. But it would have been completely inappropriate to pry." He gave her a hesitant look. "I won't pry now, either. But please don't be angry with your friend over this. She didn't mean to breach a confidence."

Cassandra resisted, with great effort, the urge to roll her eyes at his naivete.

"Regardless, I wanted you to know that I'm not like that. You are the only woman I see, or intend to see. I understand our positions, your responsibilities and my own, and our time together won't be as lengthy as I would like. But when we are together, I'd like to make the most of it," he said. "That's what I meant, and utterly failed to say. I wasn't proposing marriage," he added with an uncomfortable laugh.

And that was likely as close as the man could get to saying aloud that he knew they would only have these few weeks to enjoy. But he clearly intended to enjoy them with only her. He really was very romantic, and her heart fluttered happily.

"Very well, Knight-Commander," she said with her best attempt at a sly grin. "I accept your terms."

"Good," he said. They hadn't yet made it to her room, but he didn't seem to care as he pushed her in to a recess in the wall and kissed her intimately. "You really are the most beautiful woman. You have no idea how hard it is to be near you and keep to propriety. The things you do to me…"

The pressure of his mouth was soft and tender on her neck. "I might have some idea," she said, thinking back to their trip to Kirkwall.

"Tell me."

"What, here?"

"Yes. I have to know that I'm not the only one who feels it," he said quietly.

That was a reassurance she could give easily. As he continued to taste her, to run his hands down her body and graze up underneath her tunic, she told him of her very indecent mental wanderings as they'd drifted across the water. He groaned appreciatively at each detail, which only made her more determined to share them all.

By the end his mouth was decidedly less gentle, and he laughed darkly when she subsided. "I think we need to go back to Kirkwall again. Soon."

"What for?"

He leaned back and gave her a boyish smile. "I need to take you to a proper dinner, of course. With candles on the table. And flowers. With music. And definitely no interlopers."

"I would like that," she said, then leveled a stern glare at him. "It's your turn."

"I'm not nearly so eloquent," he said. "Nor is my accent so stimulating."

She glared harder. "You have a gorgeous voice."

He ran his hand through the hair at the nape of her neck. "Very well," he said with a hint of trepidation. He moved closer, but not before she saw the flush in his cheeks. "My office window overlooks the training grounds, for obvious reasons. I watched you there every morning, fighting with all of that self-possessed grace. And it's very good that my door locks. For even more obvious reasons."

Cassandra desperately wanted to tease more details from him, to see that flush run down his neck and his chest and Maker knew where else. But she wanted even more for him to say things like that to her again, so instead she only said, "Next time wait until I join you."

He smiled. "I'm not sure my office is quite ready for the sight of you," he said, kissing her once more, "but I'll try. " They stood that way for a long time, leaning into one another, until a throat cleared next to them.

"Seeker Pentaghast?"

They sprang apart quickly and turned to the voice. It was a young man, a servant instead of a Templar, and he looked terrified. Cassandra nearly laughed, but she schooled her expression into a businesslike mask and said, "Yes?"

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness, but there's a problem with the prisoner. The dwarf, Tethras."

Her expression was no longer forced. "Don't call me that. And what is it?"

If anything he looked more terrified. "There's a member of the city guard here. She's saying she's taking him away, and she won't leave. I think she's going to fight the men in front of the room. My lady."

Cassandra nodded and moved towards her room to grab her weapon. Cullen trailed, grumbling, as the servant fled. "Next time we're going to make it inside your room," he said in a low voice behind her. "This hall is much too trafficked."

Despite her new tension she couldn't keep a smile from her face.

* * *

They heard the shouting before they reached the door, and they both broke into a run. When they skidded around the corner, Cassandra expected to see drawn weapons, and possibly blood. Instead it was merely a heavily armored, red-haired woman going toe-to-toe with two even more heavily armored guards, with nothing but her voice. "I demand that you release this man. He's committed no crime," she said. "Let me in this instant or be reported on charges to the Viscount."

"The dwarf is here by order of the Knight-Commander -" one of the guards began, then broke off as he saw them over the woman's shoulder. "Ser! Your orders?"

"Stand down," said Cullen, showing absolutely no fear as he strode up behind the woman. She whirled around, face hard, but he didn't break stride. Cassandra wondered, vaguely, if he was showing off again. "Guard Captain Aveline. What brings you to the Gallows?"

Cassandra grimaced. Not just a member of the guard. Their leader. Trickier, but as a emissary of the Divine she still had the authority to countermand her. It would just take longer to convince her of it.

Then her mind caught up to her. Aveline. Another of Hawke's companions. But not as close, according to Cullen. They'd been working colleagues more than confidantes, and Aveline's passion for law and order meant the woman was likely the last person who would know anything about the missing Viscountess. And the records of her official investigation had been in Cassandra's hands for weeks.

So she stayed silent as Aveline poked Cullen in the chest. "You know very well. You can't simply detain citizens at your whim, Knight-Commander."

"He has information we need."

"Varric knows far less than he pretends, as you also know well. And I've received word that he's been mistreated in your care, which is absolutely unacceptable," said Aveline. A look of disappointment crossed her face. "Cullen, where is your honor?"

That broke her silence. "He has certainly not been mistreated," said Cassandra hotly, stepping forward. "Every effort has been made to keep him in relative comfort. Varric certainly makes no complaints." Aveline opened her mouth to speak, but Cassandra overrode her furiously. "And the Knight-Commander is the very embodiment of honor."

The two guards smothered chuckles, and even Cullen's mouth quirked in a grin. She tried not to be embarrassed under their gazes, focusing instead on the captain. The woman's expression didn't change. "And I'm supposed to simply take your assurances on this? I have no idea who you are, but I'm not in the habit of trusting strangers with swords. You have no authority here."

"I'm Seeker Pentaghast, the Right Hand of the Divine. I have authority everywhere. Serah Tethras will remain here, under it, until I am satisfied."

"Like hell he will," snarled Aveline.

Cullen stepped between them as both women placed their hands on their swords. "Ladies, please. There's no need for bloodshed," he said. He turned to the captain. "Aveline, I assure you that there's been no mistreatment. You know that's not how we operate. I've allowed you to examine the mage quarters, and our prison cells, countless times. And you know me."

A touch of uncertainty entered her eyes. "My information was on very good authority," she said. She sighed. "But yes, I do know you. I could hardly believe it of you, to be perfectly honest. But you've had a difficult history. All men have their lapses."

Cassandra made no move to release her sword. Just how well did this guard captain know Cullen? She was pretty, in a brutish sort of way. One of the women his men had tried to push in his path? Or had he sought her out himself?

Her jealousy only intensified when Cullen touched her arm, even though there was only metal under his fingertips. "Trust your instincts. Varric is here, and we have clashed in the past, but I'm not Meredith. I'm not even Hawke. I don't make decisions that way. He's quite untouched." When she didn't speak, he added, "When did you return, anyway? I thought you were up on the Wounded Coast, taking care of pirates."

"Speak plainly, Cullen. You mean slavers. Nothing, I'm afraid," she said. "I returned only a few hours ago. I found the waiting messages and came directly here. I owe Varric that much." She crossed her arms. "Let me see him."

Cullen glanced back at Cassandra, asking silent permission, and she shrugged. It was his garrison. His friend.

"As you wish," he said, nodding to the guard. The man took a key out of his pocket and fitted it to the lock just as Leliana entered the hallway.

"What are you doing here?" asked Cassandra, more sharply than she'd intended.

Cullen's eyebrows raised, but Leliana only said sweetly, "I was just passing through."

Cassandra and Aveline both snorted, then looked at each other in surprise. Leliana politely didn't comment. "I'll just follow you in, then," she said.

When the guard swung open the heavy door, Cassandra pushed through first, followed closely by Aveline and then Leliana. Cullen took up the rear, and Cassandra noticed he took up a place behind Aveline. But she only noticed briefly, because Varric was sitting in a soft wing-backed chair, sipping from a wine glass and reading a novel.

Aveline made a hissing noise, like a tea-kettle boiling over, and Varric smiled broadly. "Aveline! Thank the Maker you've finally come to deliver me from these people."

"You said you were being mistreated!" said Aveline. She took two long steps forward.

"I am! There's only one window here. I've almost run out of novels to read. And there's no ale at all! Just this wine, which, I assure you, isn't fit to be drunk." When Aveline gave a pointed look at his half-empty glass, he shrugged. "Desperate times. Plus, the Seeker has been absolutely relentless in her questioning. My voice is withering away."

"Is that true?" asked Aveline over her shoulder. Her voice made it clear she already knew the answer.

Cassandra said dryly, "He might have left days ago if he could take a less tortuous route through a tale."

The captain laughed without humor. "That sounds about right," she said.

"How did he get a message to you?" asked Leliana.

Varric's eyes widened. He made a violent movement with his hand, accidentally flinging his book through the air, but Aveline ignored him. "Hand signals to the bartender at the Hanged Man, who reports to me. Varric's hovel does attract actual criminals, at times. And a servant here, paid to pass one along. Paid handsomely."

"Great," said Varric. "Why don't you just tell them all of my secrets while you're at it?"

"You're lucky I don't," said Aveline. "You realize I could be with Donnic now instead of responding to your false alarms?" At Cassandra's questioning noise she added, "My husband. A guardsman, and a man I haven't seen in far too long."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Wait. You're a guard captain who married one of the men under her command?"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"Tell me, did your courtship start with a one-sided interest on your side?"

Aveline turned to her fully and frowned. "I suppose one could say that, yes. Or, that was the appearance of the thing."

"Seeker…" said Varric desperately.

She paid him no mind. "Hesitant, half-awkward advances?"

"I don't know about that," said Aveline, but the set of her jaw was more than enough to betray her. That and Cullen's muffled laugh.

Cassandra nodded. "It is as I suspected. You are the subject of _Swords and Shields_."

"What's _Swords and Shields_?"

* * *

They shut Aveline into the cell with Varric at her firm command, a command Cassandra didn't mind following in the least. As the door swung closed they heard her at full bellow, and the audience, including the guards and several other Templars who'd gathered in precaution, made no effort to hide their grins.

"So you're reading a Tethras novel?" asked Cullen quietly next to her. They'd been waiting for five minutes, and even Cassandra was starting to be slightly concerned.

"I thought it would build a rapport," she said. "But it's not as terrible as I thought it would be. Very romantic."

The sparkle in his eyes was extremely distracting. "You'll have to show me."

She snorted. "I could never be that awkward with a man," she said.

A booming knock came from the other side of the door, and the guard sprang to open it. "I hope they keep you here for a month, Tethras," shouted Aveline behind her as she stomped out. She turned to her audience with a steely gaze. "I mean it."

Leliana smiled a smile that was not quite nice. "We may need to. I've learned a new name to tempt him into forthrightness," she said. She raised her voice. "Bianca Davri."

Varric's yelp sounded close to panic. "Aveline! You can't leave me here! Please!"

The captain nodded to the guard, who closed the door again. She made a small bow to Cassandra. "Forgive my rudeness, Seeker. It seems I was working from some bad information. With your blessing, I'll return home."

"Of course. I appreciate your dedication to the well-being of Kirkwall's citizens," said Cassandra evenly. She knew the sharp amusement in Aveline's eyes matched her own.

"Stop by the barracks at the Viscount's, if you ever make it across the harbor. I'll stand you a drink. At a reputable tavern," said Aveline, then turned and walked away with the swinging gait of a guardswoman on patrol. "Goodbye, Knight-Commander," she called behind her.

Cullen smiled. "Varric always did overplay his hand."

* * *

Leliana accompanied them this time, and while Cassandra had no problems being affectionate in front of her friend - it would hardly be the first time - Cullen seemed endearingly shy of being observed so directly. Strange that he would drive her to the edge of insanity in the hallways of his home but hold back under the gaze of only Leliana.

But it was good, in a way. Cassandra needed to examine that flash of intense jealousy with Aveline. It wasn't like her to be so possessive, and Cullen had just finished telling her of his constancy in a speech she'd believed. But even if he hadn't, she hardly had a claim on the man. They'd kissed, thoroughly and enjoyably, twice, and both just today. And Maker knew she had enough past love affairs that she could hardly begrudge him his own. If he'd even had one with the guard captain.

She bit the inside of her lip in vexation. All of her thoughts were logical. And true. So why did the memory of the woman saying so confidently that she knew him, using his name, or the gentle way he'd touched her armor, make her want to put on her own and find a training dummy to destroy?

When they reached their rooms, Cassandra gave a meaningful look to Leliana, who completely ignored it. It hardly mattered, as Cullen merely took her hand in his own and lifted it to press a kiss to the knuckles. "Until tomorrow," he said.

Cassandra stared at him, bewildered. "You do not wish to…" She trailed off as his eyes darted to their Orlesian chaperone.

He coughed nervously. "No. I mean, yes, but not tonight," he said. He still gripped her hand, and he tried to smile. "I owe you a dinner first."

A distinctive noise of appreciation came from the direction of their audience, and Cassandra tried to come up with something to throw at her as Cullen blushed.

Nothing came to mind, barring her sword, so instead she squeezed Cullen's fingers. "As you desire. Shall we go tomorrow?"

The relief in in his eyes was obvious. "I would like that very much," he said. He kissed her hand once more, then bowed slightly. "Goodnight ladies."

They both watched him leave, with Leliana's eyes no less fixated on his retreating form, Cassandra noted with annoyance. When she elbowed the bard, the woman threw her a sharp glance. "Tell me you wouldn't look. Besides, you owe me. Do you know how difficult it was to pretend to be such a ninny?"

"You seemed much as usual to me."

"Oh yes, very amusing," said Leliana. Her voice was smug as she added, "You two would still be in the stage of lonely imaginations if it weren't for me."

"If you say so."

The Left Hand turned on her heel and strode into her room with a grunt. Cassandra smiled to herself. For as terrifying and knowing as Leliana could be, stoicism was still a reliable weapon against her patience.

Cassandra went into her own room and changed for bed, but she didn't bother to put out the candle. She'd only just settled herself back to stare at the ceiling when her door opened and a blurry figure catapulted itself onto the other side of the bed.

Leliana grabbed a pillow and curled it under her chin. "Now. I want to hear absolutely everything."


	8. Friendly Advice

The next day Cassandra woke with a head full of clouds and knew her dreams had finally turned pleasant and blonde. She'd stayed up past wisdom talking to Leliana about Cullen Rutherford's romantic declarations, his handsome features, his kind spirit, and his heart-stopping kissing. Was it any wonder that the thoughts had carried her through the night?

But it was a new day, and even new love couldn't keep her from her duties. Though, she noted with a touch of self-disgust, she'd slept through Mary bringing her breakfast.

She kicked the body snoring next to her. "Wake up."

Leliana stretched and rolled over, burying her face in the pillows she'd stolen. "No."

"Yes. Eat breakfast and tell me what I need to know about Bianca Davri."

* * *

Instead of going to the training yard, where she'd only be distracted by the knowledge that she was distracting Cullen, she knocked lightly on his door. When he looked up, a pleased smile crossed his face, crinkling his eyes with its breadth. "Seeker, good morning. I trust you slept well?"

"After Leliana let me sleep, yes." She studied him. He looked better. Less exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes were just a touch lighter. "It seems you did as well, Knight-Commander."

"Indeed. My dreams were much more pleasant than usual," he said. He leaned back and slowly rubbed a finger down his jaw as he considered her in turn. His very square, very shaved, very strong jaw. Cassandra lost herself in the steady motion, until she saw his lips curve into a wicked grin. "Did you come here for a reason?"

She growled lightly, but it had no effect on his amusement. "I came to tell you I will be with Varric most of the morning, and possibly the afternoon if I can get him to speak," she said. "I may not be able to eat lunch as usual."

Cullen only nodded. "That's fine. I actually was going to find you training, to tell you the same. Not about Varric, but about my day. Everyone in Kirkwall wants to talk to me, apparently, and if I want to be done by dinner I'll be trapped in here all day."

"We don't have to go to dinner this evening, if your schedule doesn't permit it," she said. "I don't wish to be another thing that must be fitted in, for you."

"Actually, our date is fixed in granite," he said, glancing away. "Everything else has to fit in around you. So be at the docks at six. Please."

She wet her lips lightly and said, "Of course."

Silence fell and stretched, and then it was his turn to shake himself. She quirked an eyebrow but said nothing as she turned to leave.

"Wait."

She turned back to see him with a more serious expression. "Two things," he said. He stood and walked around his desk with two folded sheets in his hand, then handed one to her. "One is a letter from Captain Aveline, apologizing again for last evening. She doesn't apologize often, so cherish it."

"Thank you," she said. _How do you know that?_

"Two, do you know Aedan Cousland?"

"The King of Ferelden? No. I know of him, of course, and he corresponds with Justinia, but we've never met," she said. "Why do you ask?"

Cullen frowned a little at the remaining page. "He's coming to Kirkwall on a diplomatic visit," he said. "I know him, slightly, from the Blight and his trips here over the last years. We're not unfriendly, but we're certainly not friends, not with his status. Still, he wants to come to the Gallows. To stay here, not in the city. He's never done that before."

"Is it a concern?"

He snapped back to the present. "No! No, not at all. Just different. And he's given me rather late notice. I'd wondered if he was coming to see you. On business for the Divine."

She considered. "None I'm aware of. He's invited to the Conclave, as a ruler and a man intimate with one of the flashpoints of the rebellion. But nothing beyond that," she said. "However, he knows Leliana, of course. I don't believe they've kept in touch, but anything is possible."

Cullen's face cleared. "Of course. I'd forgotten Leliana. That must explain it."

She peered at him carefully. Why did he seem so relieved? "Were you jealous?" she asked. "Did you think the King of Ferelden and I were lovers?"

"Hmmmm. He'd be in your social circle, at least," said Cullen, tapping a finger to his chin. He was smiling easily, which was the only thing that kept her from shoving him. "Are you lovers? I'm prepared to duel him, if necessary."

"Appealing, but no. You can keep your sword sheathed. For now." When she glanced down briefly, he gave her a forbidding look. She smiled. "If those were the two things?"

He grabbed her elbow. "Three things," he said, then drew her in for a brief, but very thorough, kiss. "See you tonight. Cassandra."

* * *

Varric refused to speak to her.

He was sitting in his chair silently, swinging his legs and pointedly staring out of the window when she came in. Cassandra leaned against the wall and stared at him. He lived to talk, to impress. He would break long before she did.

But he showed valiant stubbornness as she waited, and eventually she decided to make her own path. "It's your own fault, you know."

"Bullshit," he said.

"You invited her here."

"To get me out, not for a hen session. Or whatever it is when it's three women who are so good at knifing people, gossiping instead," he said sourly. "I'm not talking to you anymore."

"Not even if that's the only thing preventing you from walking out the door?"

"Even then."

"Tell me about Bianca Davri," she said without warning, and he glared at her. "Leliana says she's a good smith. An important one, as well, after her choice of husband." She emphasized the last word.

His silence was even more deafening. He looked at his feet with furious concentration.

"And quite beautiful, I understand. A favorite among many before she wed. Many were very surprised at her choice. Except for her parents. Except for the dwarven hierarchy that demands submission and order…"

"Seeker," said Varric in a low, pained voice. "Please." The plea came from a great distance, as though it had traveled all the length of time to reach this moment, with her, in this room. It was the sound of a sob ripped from a throat, the feeling of a boy kissing a girl who was different and beautiful and easier.

Cassandra stopped, ashamed.

When the silence persisted to the breaking point, Varric looked up again, almost puzzled as he regained his composure. "Why did you stop? You had to know you were only a half-step away from your goal."

She shrugged.

His eyes were knowing. "Oh," he said. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

They sat again quietly for awhile, until Cassandra said, "Do the Knight-Commander and the Guard Captain have a history?"

"A romantic history?" Varric looked startled, but he didn't laugh. "Andraste's girdle, no. She's always been mad for her guardsman. Sometimes literally. Not that I'll tell you more about that particular story. It will spoil the book."

She smiled a little, and he joined her. He leaned forward. "Curly doesn't have much of a bluffing face, and he's all-in on you, Seeker. Even getting reamed out by Aveline last night, I wasn't too distracted to see that."

"That's not what I- I merely wondered, that's all."

Varric hummed quietly. "So, where did we leave off? I think I was just about to tell you how Anders blew all of our lives to the Void."

* * *

He left that afternoon, full once again of solicitousness and easy charm. He even stopped in for a private talk with Cullen, who somehow managed to open his schedule for their former prisoner. She'd chafed and paced at being left out of their conversation, but Cullen had asked her in a way that was impossible to refuse.

Which, she was beginning to suspect, was any way, when it came to him.

The dwarf was even more smug when he came out again, but after she saw him to the dock and waved him away, small and pale in the boat, a reluctant concern for him weighed on her heart. The end of the story had been the darkest, unsurprisingly, but what was surprising was the direction of the grief. Not for the Chantry, but for his friends. She realized too late that he'd always talked about them as characters. They were all people on a stage, and their emotions were there, their laughter and their sadness, but there was no heart inside of them.

Even the execution of Anders was nothing but a hollow drum, banging the expected beats under their feet.

He admitted that he hadn't seen Aveline in months before the night before. He even admitted that he'd written his latest work in the hope she would be so angry that it would provoke her back into friendship. "Not one of my best plans," he said ruefully, and Cassandra had come close to laying her hand over his on the table between them. "But I'll keep trying."

She asked once more about Hawke, quietly, insistently, and Varric looked at her with such terrible pain that she could hardly believe it was the same man who irritated her so easily. "Seeker, there's nothing there for you. Hawke isn't what you need. You can't make a Champion, though Kirkwall tried its best. And now she's left it for its troubles.

"But we left her, too, you know. They say war ties people together, gives them a bond, but some things aren't mean to bond us. Some things are meant to push people into new paths. Hawke made choices. Not all good, not all bad, but they were all made. And none of them were easy. Especially at the end.

"She had us all in love with her, before that Chantry exploded. Even Aveline felt the pull, though she's too much of a warrior stoic to acknowledge the lure of charm. Even when we didn't agree with her, none of us left until it was over. We all had things to find. Fenris, he discovered a new kind of slavery. Merrill was a sweet kid who learned some hard lessons. Sebastian never could be so holy as he was before she came.

"And me? I'm still here, in my bar. Sometimes I wondered why I stayed, especially after Hawke left for good. Maybe Andraste wanted me here so that you could find me. So that I could tell you this. I've always known I'm a supporting character, but Hawke thought she was the center of the story, and Anders changed it into something new without asking her first. He wouldn't have gone so bad without her, but he wouldn't have stayed so good either. That mage broke whatever it was we had, shattered it into pieces. He healed me more times than I can count, but the last one pays for all, I suppose. We couldn't forgive what happened. I guess that's why the Maker can't stand this world.

"But what I need to say, and I've been trying to avoid for a week now, hoping Aveline would come, is that whatever you're looking to get Hawke for, whatever symbol you're hoping she can be for some cause, stop looking. She's dangerous, especially to you. I like you, Seeker, genuinely, but you're a romantic. Hawke for you will always be the ideal version of herself. Something that's not quite real, something that's easily controlled. And the one thing I can say with absolute certainty is that Hawke is completely and entirely out of control.

"That's not all there is to her, I'm sure, but it's all I have to tell you. So you can keep me or free me, but the story's over either way."

* * *

She talked to Leliana about it, later, but the Left Hand was born to be unimpressed. "You're a soft touch, Cassandra. You always have been. He's just covering for her. Even if he doesn't know where she is, and I'll believe that of him, he's trying to get us to stop looking."

She'd kicked off her slippers onto Cassandra's bed and was busy inspecting the painted color on her toes, only looking up when Cassandra cleared her throat. "I believe he was sincere. We may need to give up on Hawke as the Inquisitor," she said.

"And replace her with whom?" asked Leliana. "There is no one else who can take the mantle. Hawke may have frightened a dwarven merchant, but she's never dealt with me. Or you. She's not beyond our control."

"Even if she doesn't want it?"

"She will," said Leliana. "No woman who's done what she's done could turn aside from the power."

Cassandra looked at her doubtfully. _But Cullen says she wished to hide away._ But she didn't say it. The Orlesian would only laugh at her, call her blinded and biased.

As though she'd heard the line of her thoughts, Leliana bounced up. "I've gotten some leads on Hawke through the Darktown contacts. In the meantime, you have a date, do you not?"

"Not for an hour," said Cassandra suspiciously.

"An hour? And you're still talking to me?" Leliana sounded scandalized, and she immediately ran to the drawers and half-full trunks, looking through them wildly. "You aren't even dressed."

Cassandra glanced down at herself. Her tunic was clean and free of tears, and her trousers were of good make. She hadn't even done any sweating that day. "Yes I am."

"You're going to wear _that_?" The bard's frantic movements stilled, and in a horror-filled voice she said, "Please tell me you've never worn those clothes on dates before."

A reply would only violate her request, so Cassandra said nothing.

Leliana groaned. "Maker, how have you ever attracted a lover at all?"

Stung, Cassandra stood. "We can't all be delicate beauties, I suppose. I conduct my romances in darkened corners, not in the public square, so it matters little what I wear. But no man has ever complained about my attire. And it's very easy to remove," she pointed out. "Cullen is a man who likes practical things. He even claimed it was my attraction."

Leliana crossed the room swiftly and grabbed one of her hands in a firm grip. "Cassandra. You are beautiful, and it's obvious why men desire you. That isn't what I meant. And I'm sure Cullen adores you in anything. But even the most practical person enjoys a touch of impracticality sometimes. And it has more meaning when it's offered."

Cassandra raised her free hand to the circling braid on her head, the one that never came down except to be put back into place. "I suppose."

"And you like Cullen, yes?"

"He's very pleasant."

The other woman rolled her eyes. "And he's going to a lot of effort to take you to dinner, isn't he?"

"Perhaps."

"So you should show some effort yourself," said Leliana triumphantly. "You have an hour. And you have me. We'll find something."

* * *

Cassandra made her way to the docks gingerly. Leliana had pronounced her entire wardrobed unsuitable, so she'd fashioned one of her own short, deep purple dresses into a long tunic for Cassandra, complete with a pair of dark leggings that were well-suited to fighting and boots which were certainly not. Her arms were partly bare, which was uncomfortable enough on its own, but there was also a thin string circling her waist distractingly, to no apparent purpose that she could find. She even wore a necklace dangling across the front of the modestly cut neckline. It didn't have any kind of protection enchantment in it, but Leliana had insisted it was the perfect complement.

She'd drawn the line at color on her face, and Leliana had only grumbled slightly. "At least you have lovely natural coloring," she'd said as she'd shoved the uncomfortable Seeker out of her door. "I want to hear all about it in the morning. And be good!"

The echo of her light giggle followed Cassandra down the hall. She could feel the stares on her, at how silly she looked, at how completely ornamental she was. She wasn't even wearing her sword, and she felt more bare than if she'd been wearing nothing at all. What a fool they must all think her.

What a fool Cullen would think her.

When she saw a knot of people waiting by the pier, she almost turned around entirely. She would change into her armor. Or traveling clothes. Something less exposing than this. Something that wouldn't embarrass her if it failed. But before she could act, someone saw her, and she watched the mutters and elbows run through the crowd.

Cassandra squared herself and settled a blank expression on her face. To run now would let everyone see she was a coward. And it would hurt Cullen, as well, who was waiting as promised. She could see the soft ripple of his hair above the rest at the end of the dock.

But he wasn't looking at her. He was arguing with some of the people standing around him, anger written all over his face. She slowed, unsure if she should enter the fray or stand back, and heard him say, "This is not entertainment for you all!"

"We just wanted to see!" protested one, who fell silent as the mutters reached him. The arguing group turned to look at her, gaping, and for the first time in her life she wished she was a mage, able to find invisibility. Or set them all on fire.

Cullen spoke first, though he didn't move towards her. "Good evening," he said. His voice was still rough, but at least he didn't look angry anymore. "Thank you for coming. Are you ready?"

 _No._ "Yes," she said evenly.

His eyes wandered over her clothing, inscrutably, and she resisted the urge to cross her arms, cover herself, or shift into a new position. She stared at him with a touch of defiance, daring him to comment. Confidence was the only shield against weakness, and she refused to be weak in front of any of them no matter what.

At last he finished his perusal, and he flashed a small smile. "Yes, I think you are," he said. His voice rose, and the tone of command in it wasn't for her. "I trust that's sufficient?"

"Kiss her!" hissed a voice from behind them, and a burst of laughter and agreement rose up around them. "Kiss your princess!"

Cassandra closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, cursing Leliana for doing this to her. If she tried to reprimand them like this, they'd only laugh harder. Leliana could charm them and cow them with a look. She needed a sword and her intimidating bearing, and both were gone.

Cullen's voice was no longer commanding but furious. "The Lady Seeker is a person, not an entertainer sent here for your amusement. What's more she's our guest, and our superior. And you show her hospitality by demanding that she perform for you?" The shuffling of feet rose in the silence, and no one spoke. "Clearly I haven't been giving you enough work to do, if you spend your time shaming yourselves and this garrison. Starting tomorrow, you'll scour all of the armor in the Gallows, then the kitchens, and finally your living quarters. All leave is canceled until it's completed, and there will be a full inspection at the end of the week. I'd better be impressed."

Her eyes flew open in disbelief, but he seemed perfectly serious. "And an apology, right now, to the Lady Seeker."

A chorus of muttered sorries reached her, a strangely soothing disharmony, and she finally gathered her shredded courage to look at them all in turn. Some had already melted away up the stairs, but most looked truly repentant. And really, were they much different than her friend leering at them in a hall? These men were Cullen's family, just as Leliana was hers. "Your apology is accepted," she said formally, her voice strong.

She turned back to Cullen and moved closer to him, raising up slightly to brush her lips against his own. Soft nothingness, but enough to be called a kiss.

The men were too bright to clap or cheer, but she saw smiles on some of their faces as they bowed and left.

Cullen touched her elbow to draw her attention. The expression on his face was curious. "They're still getting punished."

"As they should be," she said firmly. "They disobeyed their commanding officer." She shrugged. "But their curiosity is natural, and they should not be punished for nothing."

He laughed very lightly, a soft touch on her skin. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She looked down at herself. "I feel very foolish."

"You don't look foolish," he said, and his fingers were on her chin, lightly dragging her gaze back to him. "You look breathtaking." As she stared at him, wondering if he was only trying to calm her, he dropped his arm and shifted nervously. "I'm not sure I'm a suitable companion to you."

She realized she hadn't even looked at what he was wearing. She stepped back to study him. A soft shirt of light blue, like the sky at high noon on a clear day. Tailored brown pants, likely courtesy of Hawke, which once again hugged his lower body into dangerously evocative shapes. And, best of all, severely practical boots, made for standing on docks. She envied him those.

Cassandra smiled and looked at his worried face. "You're perfect."

The warm honey of his eyes darkened, and he took a half-step towards her before he thought better of it. "Thank you," he said instead, looking around him in thinly-veiled frustration. "Shall we go?"

"You're going to row us once more?"

"Of course. Do you think I'm going to let another person in this boat?" he asked with a small smile.

"You'll get sweaty. Ruin your shirt."

"I'm prepared for that. Now, get in, or we'll be late," he said. He drew his brow into a deliberately severe line, and she sketched a small salute before stepping into the waiting craft. Cullen unwound the ropes, joined her and propelled them easily away once more.

However, before he began rowing in earnest, he nocked the oars and gave her a considering look. Without taking his eyes from her face, he unbuttoned the front of his shirt and pulled it away, folding it neatly and laying it on a cloth at the bottom of the boat.

She hardly noticed, staring instead at the sudden expanse of skin in front of her. Skin and muscle and light, trailing hair that she wanted to touch beyond reason. Against all odds his shoulders were even broader unclothed, and the taper of his hips to where he sat was intoxicating. When he breathed in she seemed to flow with him, carried on the wave of his body. What would he look like standing over her in flickering candlelight, waiting to lower himself over her own body and complete her? All of those valleys and grooves and peaks to explore in the dark.

She couldn't look away, even when he chuckled, "I guess we're ready now."


	9. First Date

This journey was more leisurely paced, but no less intense for that. Cullen sawed through long, deliberate strokes while she watched, his eyes more challenge than invitation. Cassandra could only stare helplessly as his arms flexed, his legs pistoned, and his chest rose and fell with his steady breath.

The sun was still bright, and the thin sheen of sweat over his skin only enhanced the hard lines of his well-used body. Clearly a man who hadn't sat back idle, and it was easy enough to trace the scars he'd taken in his life as a fighter. One that started high on his shoulder and traced down to his chest, stopping just short of his nipple. Another softer one, more recent, that wrapped around his flexing waist to disappear where her eyes couldn't follow. A third that was more puncture than line, just above the dangerous line of his pants, that she needed to touch. She clenched her hands into fists to keep them still.

He was trying to kill her, clearly.

Eventually it was speak or go mad."You're showing off again." She strove for accusing but ended up at frustrated.

"I am," he said. He never stopped moving. "I thought you might like it. Do you?"

She had no choice but honesty. "Yes."

"Good," he said, shooting her a lopsided smile. "At least there's one part of the evening you'll enjoy."

* * *

When they reached the line of the harbor, he grabbed the cloth from the bottom of the boat and wiped himself off, then re-buttoned his shirt before moving on. She made a small sound of disappointment but smiled when he said nervously, "I don't need to show off for all of Kirkwall."

When they docked he didn't clamber out of the boat until she was safely on land, keeping the boat steady to save her from herself. She briefly considered being annoyed with him for coddling her, but his large, firm hand on her back after their separate voyage was worth any loss of dignity. And these shoes of Leliana's were not as stable as she would like. Though the moderate heel did bring her into direct alignment with Cullen's eyes, which had its own benefits when he was next to her, watching her nervously.

"Thank you," she said. She reached out to re-arrange the shoulders of his shirt, something that didn't need the adjustment. But she did need to see leap of fire that blazed briefly at her touch.

"Anything you need." He cleared his throat and gestured to the shore. "After you."

* * *

The restaurant was a considerable distance from the pier, likely to get away from the smell of the harbor, but once again Leliana's shoes were not well-suited to the task at hand, and Cassandra spent much of the last leg glaring at them as if she could melt them away. Only when she realized that Cullen was becoming alarmed did she make an effort to find a semblance of social graces and ask him about the city around them.

The conversation covered them until they arrived at a place so ornate that Cassandra was glad she'd taken Leliana's advice on her clothing. Though based on the deference they received, they happily would have allowed her inside in full plate mail. They'd barely entered the gilded doors before being whisked off to a prominent table on a raised dais, the head waiter murmuring subservient comments before withdrawing.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "It seems Kirkwall is well-aware to whom they are indebted for their current peace."

"I've done very little. More likely they're looking to impress an agent of the Divine."

She looked around her at the crystal glasses and expensive decorations and laughed. "Mostly people attempt to impress us by showing their humility rather than their grandeur. Justinia is known for her severity."

"Would you prefer something different?" asked Cullen, looking down at his hands. He toyed with a ring he wore on his middle finger. A ring equipped with a defensive enchantment, Cassandra noted absently. He twisted it around twice before adding, "We can leave."

"I think the staff would be prostrate were they to lose you now," she said. "This is fine." She glanced at the menu an unobtrusive waiter had placed in front of her. "What do you recommend?"

"I've never been here," said Cullen, picking up his own. "I'm sure it's all good."

She looked up curiously, but he was studying the paper with a furious determination. Why would he bring her somewhere he'd never tried himself? In her experience men chose comfortable locations for their assignations. And it wasn't hard to imagine a man like Cullen entertaining an endless line of women, so he surely had a usual place of that entertainment. Why wouldn't he use someplace this impressive?

Unless something prevented him. She looked more closely at the menu as a waiter poured them unasked-for wine and realized there were no prices listed. Which usually meant the prices were beyond paying, for those who needed to look. "You need not worry about the cost," she said reassuringly. "I've brought enough coin."

"No!" he said, then took a long swallow of his drink without bothering to enjoy it. "I mean, that wouldn't be right. I invited you. And I have my own coin. Templar life doesn't allow much time for spending my pay."

Cassandra thought about arguing - even a man with savings shouldn't have to spend them on her - but his face was so strained she thought better of it. The tension between them was unbearable, and not the sort in the boat, the kind that held the promise of pleasure at the end. She took a small drink of her own, considering, then said, "Cullen, I apologize that I wasn't more congenial on the way here. And I'm sorry if I've irritated you by it."

He finally looked at her, and the brown pools of his eyes were bright with surprise. "I didn't notice any lack of graces. Besides, I could never be irritated with you. Even if you were being irritating, I'm sure I'd be just as charmed as usual."

She blushed at his obvious sincerity - he was no flatterer - but she held his gaze steadily. "Then what's wrong? Tell me what I've done."

"You haven't done anything," he said. He sighed. "It's me. I've… never done this before."

"Yes, you said, but this restaurant seems quite nice."

"Not that," he said, fiddling with his wine glass. "Any of this. Anywhere. With any woman."

"I don't understand," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You were with Hawke. And you certainly don't kiss as though you're celibate."

His cheeks flamed a bright red, and Cassandra snaked her hand out quickly to stop his glass from spilling. Her fingers brushed his own, and he jerked back, even redder than before. By the time they were sorted out and relatively calm, she assumed he would move on to another topic, but instead he said quietly, "I'm not celibate. Maker knows it, and I hope forgives me for it, though it's nothing improper. Women I've met through patrolling, or those well-intentioned meetings in my office. They've never… required dinner of me. And by the time I remembered I should have been asking, they've moved on." He looked at her with a touch of chagrin. "I think I bore them."

A waiter interrupted them with more wine and to take their orders, and Cassandra chose blindly from the list in front of her. She was far too focused on Cullen's words. Bored of him? Impossible.

After the man left, she said as much. "We've not yet slept together, but based on what has already occurred it's inconceivable a woman could be bored of you." When he blushed again, she added, "I'm sorry if that was too blunt."

"I like your bluntness," said Cullen, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Even when it makes me uncomfortable, I like it. You don't hide yourself."

"There is no point in hiding myself. I would only be caught out."

He laughed, but not unkindly, and his fingers went back to the stem of his glass. "Well, anyway. I didn't mean bored with that. I meant with me. My conversations. My mind. I've been only a few places, and the ones I have been aren't particularly impressive. Or fond to remember. I've essentially trained as a soldier my entire life, which isn't the most romantic profession. And I'm no wit. Even if I had invited a woman to dinner, I doubt I could have entertained her well enough to make it worth the time."

"Why did you invite me, then, if you feared your ability to entertain so much?"

"You're different," he said quietly. "I want it to be different. I've never engaged with a woman intending only to bed her, even if that ended up being the only result. But when Leliana made me realize that I was preparing to repeat old patterns with you, I knew I couldn't risk it. And this all," he waved around them, "seems to be the way to find out if you'll be sick of me before I lose too much of my heart."

Her own heart fluttered and danced at the vulnerable look on his face, but her mind caught on a word. "Leliana? She advised you to this date?"

"No, not directly. She just asked when I was planning to officially begin, well, courting you, and I realized I'd gone too far already," he said, embarrassed. "Not that I could control myself any better even after I'd resolved to do so. If she hadn't been there last night…"

Cassandra cursed past-Leliana mentally. Yes, she'd been glad he'd backed away at the time, but after a long, half-dressed journey, she keenly felt her loss.

Cullen continued, oblivious, "Actually it was Varric who gave me the true advice. I knew that he would know a place suitable to bring a member of royalty, here in Kirkwall. My own knowledge of the city is mostly about the backstreets and alleys, not Hightown dining."

"I have not been royalty since I was a child," she began, then stopped short. "Varric was the one who directed you here?"

He nodded, brow creased, but she hardly noticed as she half-rose in her chair and looked around.

It was unnecessary. A familiar, smiling face looked at her from a table on the level below. Varric waved as she glared. "Hello, Seeker. Don't mind me." He was surrounded with writing supplies, sheets of paper covered in hasty writing, and half of a very fine dinner.

Cullen followed her gaze, then put his head in his hands.

"You!" she said, but she didn't have time for anything more before the waiter rematerialized.

"Seeker Pentaghast, is there a problem?"

She whirled to face him. "Yes! I want that man removed immediately. Wait," she said. The surrounded tables were watching her curiously, but she tried to ignore their curiosity. "No. He hasn't finished his dinner yet, and that would be unconscionable with your fine meals. Please simply move him to a table as far from our own as possible. One where nothing can be heard."

"Of course, Lady."

Varric protested as they dragged him away, but not strenuously, and Cassandra knew that he must have already gotten whatever he needed. _Likely starting a new serial about a self-defeating Knight-Commander and a Seeker who murders a dwarf_ , she thought sourly. She sat back down carefully and looked at Cullen, a little ashamed. "My apologies for causing a scene."

"I should be apologizing for my lack of discretion. He's invaded your privacy," said Cullen heatedly. "There's nothing more dishonorable, and you don't deserve to be treated that way."

She laid a hand over his clenched fist and rubbed it soothingly. "Your concern is very kind, but I can handle Varric."

"Of course you can. Of course. I just -" He broke off and sighed. "Everything is going exactly as I feared."

He looked so defeated. Cassandra tried to find a way to soothe him. "Cullen, this has no effect on my opinion of you. Except to possibly increase it, both for your consideration for my tastes, though it was unnecessary, and for your chivalry, which is very gallant," she said. She looked down at herself ruefully. "If it will ease your concern, all of these clothes are Leliana's. I had nothing suitable to wear to a place such as this. Neither of us are well-practiced at formality."

He turned his hand over to meet hers. "You told that waiter what to do as easily as if you came here every night."

"Some attitudes are hard to forget," she said shortly.

"I see," he said, though it was clear he didn't. "Well, I do know that you wear those clothes far better than Leliana ever could, so I'm very glad she gave them to you."

A shiver ran up her arm as his thumb traveled over her palm in a feather-light line. He breathed in sharply when her own finger traveled up his wrist, and he pulled his hand away abruptly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't seem to stop myself."

"Is that why you brought me here with your shirt in the bottom of the boat?"

She'd meant it to be teasing, but he looked away. "I know what I have to offer, and what I don't. I suppose I'd hoped that the one would outweigh the lack of the other, even if you didn't enjoy my company here."

Their food arrived, forestalling a reply, and several minutes of tedious conversation and place-setting followed. The head-waiter also joined to apologize profusely for the seating arrangements of Serah Tethras, and offered any number of compensations to ease their discomfort. She had quite a time waving him away without accepting anything, especially with Cullen's fervent, friendly nodding to the man, but eventually they left her free to speak.

As Cullen picked up his fork, she cleared her throat. He paused and looked at her expectantly, with a hint of fear. "Cullen. As you believe you are uninteresting to women, I will take this meal to find the truth of this myself. As a Seeker, this is my right and my duty. So, you must tell me about yourself and your life in whatever detail you deem sufficient, and at the end I will judge fairly and make my decision about our future relations accordingly."

A smile graced his lips by the time she finished speaking. "And will you be honest?"

"I will," she said. She picked up her own silverware decisively. "I want to take you to bed very much, but a Seeker cannot be influenced by her own desires when searching for the truth."

His mouth dropped open. She reached across the table to close it with her finger, then finally smiled at him as she settled back to begin eating. At a nod from her, he did the same, then said, "Well, I was born in Ferelden, in a very small town, on a farm. I have an older sister, Mia, and she's almost as unsettling as you are…"

* * *

Dinner flew past. She hardly remembered eating, but her plate was emptied when they took it away so she knew she must have. But despite the delicacy of the food and the sweetness of the wine, they were pale in comparison to her companion.

She liked the steady love he held for his distant family, so different from the peaks and valleys of her own experience. She liked his defense of the homeland he hadn't seen in a decade. She liked the quiet, orderly movement of his soldier's mind and the way he told a story as though laying siege to a castle, securing each corner of the tale and pressing in from all sides until it was taken completely. She liked the way he lost himself in memory, his eyes seeing things with a perfect clarity that traveled to her in his words as though by magic. She liked the way he smiled when he came back from that past, as though he saw her again for the first time, with that same perfect clarity.

And she even liked the way he included her in the story of himself. Even in the places where she'd had no part, which were most of them, he spoke of them as though she had been. As though she would be, the next time a part of his life happened that would be worth remembering. They were his only lies, but they were done for romance, so she didn't look too closely for the truth.

Varric stayed the entire time, but she forgot him as well as the wine was poured and emptied between them. Cullen's face grew flushed, and while his eyes never clouded over they were certainly less focused the longer they watched her. They'd started on her own eyes, but they wandered farther afield, moving to her cheeks, her hands, and her lips. He trailed off in the middle of a story of the Gallows as she dabbed her napkin across them, and she knew that he would not resume his story.

She knew she didn't want him to.

"Shall we go?" she asked quietly.

"Maker yes."

He stood so quickly that he rocked the table, and she laughed. He grinned as well and reached out to take her hand, wisely doing no more in the sight of the remaining diners. The head waiter bowed as they left, and Cassandra didn't bother to worry if they were skipping out on their bill. She didn't worry about the new reminder of the ache in her feet, or the full dark around them. All she wanted was to be alone with Cullen.

But once they were in the street he didn't pull her into a dark corner as she hoped. Instead he took her hand gently and tugged her down the street toward the harbor. She followed his lead reluctantly, falling into somewhat hobbled step beside him. He looked down at her feet and grinned again. "I wondered why you owned such impractical shoes. Leliana explains everything."

"They're absolutely silly."

"Hmm, I don't know. I like that they let me look you in the eye."

She smiled to herself. "I like that, too."

His hand tightened on hers. "I spent so much time talking about myself, I never asked about you. I'm terribly sorry. What should I know about Cassandra Pentaghast?"

"You know all of the things that are worth knowing, and some that are not," she said. "Besides, my charge was to learn about you and pronounce my judgment."

"Which is?"

Cassandra stopped and pushed him against a nearby wall. "They are all fools. Any woman who would think you boring has no sense of value or interest and would be better served with an idiot like Varric as a lover," she said fiercely. She kissed him, aware that the wine that she still tasted on her tongue was driving this display and not caring in the least. She dropped her hands to skate along the muscle of his stomach, still so vivid in her mind.

He didn't seem to mind.

"Good evening, Knight-Commander," said a chorus behind them, and she turned around to see a passing city guard patrol give a wave. "Nice night for it!"

She stepped back, flushing, and he rubbed a hand through his hair and grinned like a pirate. "Your room?"

"Just get me there, Knight-Commander."

* * *

There was still the very long boat ride back, and she didn't have the patience to watch him this time.

He must have felt the same, for as soon as they were out of the sight of the docks his shirt was off once more and he motioned to her. "Come here," he said.

She was already moving before he finished the words, but to her surprise he turned her around and settled her against him. The heat coming off of his chest was extraordinary against her back, and it made the rest of her feel frozen by comparison. He gently took her hands and guided them to the oars. "You need to learn to be a sailor."

"I don't see why," she said indignantly, but she didn't stop him.

Then he leaned forward with her and pulled back on the oars, and she saw very well why. She flowed with him like the water underneath, adding her own strength to the rowing motion until they were almost one person. She relaxed and let the breathing center her. Despite the rising of one tension, the rest of them fell away, and she could see why Cullen enjoyed the activity so much.

She was on the verge of telling him so when his hands dropped away from the oars and circled her waist. She gasped, and he chuckled into her ear. "Keep rowing," he said, his voice rough and breathless. "You're a natural."

Cassandra sighed as he trailed his lips down her neck as they moved. "You just want to get out of the work," she said.

"No," he said. "I just wanted my hands on you." He proved his point by sliding one hand down to her thigh and squeezing. "Though you're welcome to take your shirt off as well."

She should stop this madness and take back control. Ridiculous to let him kiss her this way, touch her where she couldn't repay the torment. Foolish to revel in the way the roughness of his jaw felt on her skin and the hard body pressed against her. Absolute lunacy to wish he would be a little less gentlemanly and work his hands up beneath her tunic to knead her overheating flesh in his hands. Worst of all, she couldn't tell him any of it. She could barely speak for the effort of moving the boat, and she certainly couldn't touch him in any meaningful way.

She didn't stop rowing.

After awhile he spoke again. "So you're sure you're still interested in me? Even after that horrible date?"

"Yes," she said. "Not horrible."

"Good." He stopped his explorations of her skin and touched a hand again. "Starboard." He touched the other one. "Port."

"Left. Right."

"No. The other way around," he said. His hands gripped the oars once more. "Move back to your place."

"No." She wiggled against him.

He laughed, but there was a hint of a growl in it. "We're almost back. My Templars don't deserve the show," he said. "Plus, you'll be sore tomorrow if you don't stop."

She bit back a reply and did as he requested. "Show me starboard," he said. She pointed her left hand, and he shook his head. "Other side."

Cassandra stared at the side of the boat in confusion, then comprehension dawned. "It's the side of the boat, not the person," she said.

"Exactly," said Cullen, smiling. "Intelligent as well as beautiful. And able to tolerate me. How did I get so lucky?"

Without warning they were nearly at the Gallows, and it was blessedly deserted. There she was the one pulling him out, steadying the boat, getting them up the darkened stairs into the halls of the garrison. When they reached the wing with her room, she kicked off the offending shoes at Leliana's door. The Nightingale was already peering out with a wicked grin, and she opened the door wider to let the shoes sail through.

Cullen slashed a look at the bard, and to Cassandra's surprise she actually shut the door. Then that distraction was over, and Cassandra leaned against her own door. Cullen was still shirtless, and it was hard effort to look him in the face. "So. Would you like to come in?"


	10. Quality Time

She didn't wait for an answer and opened the door to fall backwards into the room. He followed without a word, his hand reaching out to steady her, trailing along her shoulder deliciously as he stepped closer. When she looked up his face was shadowed and hidden, barely touched by the dim glow of her bedside candle. She moved slightly, just enough to illuminate him more fully, and the light bounced perfectly from the slope of his cheek. A shadow of a beard was forming underneath it, and she shivered at the memory of it against her skin.

"Cold?" he asked.

Cassandra gripped the hem of her shirt firmly and drew it up over her head. "Not at all."

She worried briefly that it was too forward for him, but Cullen swore and slammed the door behind him without any hint of disapproval. But when he only drank her in without moving, she took his hand and guided it to the bare flesh of her hip with agonizing slowness. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, his throat working in gentle rhythm as he massaged her skin exactly as she'd imagined. "Oh Maker," he breathed, mirroring the movements on the other side, working his way up her body. "You're so soft. And hard. I don't know…"

Her own fingers explored the hard planes of his chest and stomach, finding the scars she'd memorized and drawing out even more ragged breaths as he fought for control. She hummed appreciatively when his hips jerked forward at her skim of his waistband. "And you're gorgeous, Cullen," she whispered into the darkness.

He blindly tugged her forward, lips seeking hers desperately. They brushed against her cheek and nose before he found the warmth of her mouth and tasted her again. And she realized she'd never really been kissed by this man at all.

He kissed as though he was afraid she would vanish, all vulnerability and anguish underneath his strength. He seemed to know what she wanted before she did, and he pushed when she needed his power and pulled away, light as a feather, when she craved teasing. She followed his lead, trying to match his own skill with limited success, but he never complained or stopped. Instead he took his time, exploring her until her lips were swollen and tingling and beautifully warm.

It was some time before she realized that he was murmuring words whenever he paused to draw breath, snatches of the Chant. They were verses of thankfulness, of blessing, that she knew as well as her own name. They were beautiful and sacred, and even as the Divine's Right Hand she knew they were beyond her own worth.

She tried to tell him she didn't deserve such reverence, but he whispered her name and silenced her gently with his finger. He moved his hand to her cheek and cradled it so gently that tears formed behind her closed eyes. When one spilled beneath her lashes and traced down to touch his finger., he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb and swept his tongue into her mouth again. He spoke no more words, but she felt them washing over her anyway.

His other hand drifted to her breast band, and he paused to say softly, "May I?"

Any other man it would have been perfunctory, a rote request for an action that was already taking place. From him, it was a true request, and she wondered if she could ever understand a man who could drive her to such desirous heights and treat her like she could break all at the same time.

To mask her confusion, she pulled the band off before he had a chance. "You don't have to ask," she said.

"I do," he said, but his words came from far away as he leaned back to study her. A small growl escaped him. "It's too dark in here."

And then she laughed, a startling sound that echoed in the still room. He tore his gaze away from her chest with difficulty and looked at her, confused. "What?"

"I was not sure if you'd ever notice any part of me beyond my lips."

His lopsided grin was even more dangerous in the half-light. "Oh, I've noticed," he said. He ran his hands over her stomach, up over her breasts to her shoulders, and back down once more. "I'm a very noticing kind of person." His next circuit left whimpering with her eyes closed, and the third ended with his fingers underneath the band of her leggings, drawing them down slightly before moving away again.

"Don't tease me, Cullen," she said, but she didn't bother to hide the satisfaction in her voice.

And he didn't pretend to miss it. "Stop me, then," and there was a smile behind his desire.

Cassandra tugged his pants down without warning, exactly when his hands were roving over her breasts once more. He gasped and stopped, staring at without any hint of humor, and she smiled. "I will."

She pulled him back in for a searing kiss. There was no more softness, only hard need, and he snarled as she tightened her grip on him, winding her fingers in his hair to keep him still as she nipped and licked down his jaw and neck. She left a space between them, giving his fingers access to the newly exposed skin he was no longer toying with but kneading urgently.

She was so caught up in him that she was barely aware that they were moving, wandering towards her bed, until she hit the corner post with a slight thump.

"Sorry," he mumbled against her, never stopping.

"I'm not," she said, and it was the truth. The arrested motion had pressed his hips to hers, just briefly, and she'd felt how wonderfully hard he was. That evidence of his arousal broke another shred of her control, and she reached around him to pull him against her again.

He tensed and tried to arch away, but that only made him feel better in her hands.

"Please, Cullen," she said, a tremble in her voice that she couldn't stop. "I need to feel you. Please."

He grunted in frustration and a little anger. "I won't last. I'm too far gone, and I want…"

"What do you want?" She kissed his neck once more, and then he was the one pressing against her, pushing her against the thin post of the bed with almost terrifying speed. "Tell me," she whispered.

He ground his hips against hers before lowering his head to pour his hot, panting breath into her ear. "Maker forgive me, I want to ruin you."

A low moan dragged itself from her lips, and he responded in kind before spinning her around and stripping away her remaining clothing for her to kick away. Just like in the boat, her back pressed against the hard muscle of his body, only now he was almost bare, only a thin layer of cloth between her and what he'd been taunting her with all night. Ever since she met him. Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford, all hers.

As soon as she thought it, he brought one hand to her breast, teasing the nipple into full hardness between his fingers. The other dipped to caress her thigh, just as he had earlier. But this time he didn't stop for decorum. He played his fingers lightly across her skin until he dipped between her legs to feel how wet she was. When he breathed in sharply she knew she must be even more ready for him than she'd realized. A low ache built in her belly as he went back to explore once more. He touched her core, circling and pressing, and she arched and cried out his name.

"Again," he said darkly, and she complied as he slipped his finger inside of her. He smiled and kissed her earlobe as he worked her. "Beautiful."

Her legs weakened, and she held onto his hip behind her to steady herself. He shifted to place one leg between hers, his thigh thick and stable, but the intoxication of it was nothing compared to the way his cock rubbed against her. She tried to turn again, to feel him where she most wanted, but he held her in place easily. "Not yet," he said. "Do you think I could make you come, like this?"

"Yes." It was a near certainty if he didn't stop touching her, and she hissed as he found a new rhythm with both of his questing hands.

He kissed her neck at the join and nearly sent her through the ceiling when he used his teeth to hold her in place when she squirmed. After he seemed convinced she would hold still, he licked the spot tenderly. "Do you want to?"

"I want you. Please," she said helplessly. Truthfully. Cullen was playing her body to a fever-pitch, and she was desperate to have him. More than desperate. If he didn't take her, she might not last the night.

Any shame she felt at her pleading was erased by Cullen's growl of affirmation. "You'll have me. I'll bury myself inside of you, Cassandra." He rolled his hips to press his fingers more deeply into her, and she followed him eagerly.

"Yes. Oh yes. Now."

"Mmm," he said blissfully. "But you're going to come first. Will you do that for me?"

It took her a long, dizzy moment to realize he was really asking again, and despite her need she almost laughed again at how careful he was being. Instead she said in a low voice, "Yes. Anything you want, Cullen."

To her surprise, he was the one who laughed, rumbling and hot against her back. "That's my line." He sped up his pace, touching her breast more urgently, alternating his fingers inside of her with the thumb dancing above. She gave up trying to think or react and snaked her arms above her, winding them around his head and holding on as he drove her higher. When his voice came fast and urgent, calling her lovely, worshiping her, she twisted her head towards him to catch him in an artless, needy kiss that he returned eagerly. It wasn't elegant, and it wasn't skilled, but it was enough to send her over the edge, crying out his name once more.

When she came back to herself he was holding her tightly, and he turned her around to kiss her forehead with such loving care that she almost cried. As soon as her legs felt strong enough to hold her, she walked around the bed to lay herself back slowly, her eyes on his face. Watching him watching her. Closer to the bed the light was brighter, and she could finally see him clearly. The small shoots of moonlight from the window just reached where he stood, and his face was an odd blend of hunger and sadness.

"You're gorgeous," she said again, arching her back enticingly.

He hissed in a breath and said, "So are you."

His hands hooked beneath his smalls and drew them off in an easy motion, and she watched his cock spring free eagerly. It was hard and heavy and so very present that she bit her lip against her need. He smiled a little as she whimpered, another mix of pleasure and sadness, and drew his finger along his length. He was just as she'd imagined, all muscle and towering strength and power waiting to be the final piece of her.

"Do you want me?" he asked quietly.

She did. Maker knew she did, as she'd never wanted anyone before, but this question wasn't like the others. She fought against her overwhelming desire and kept her voice steady as she said, "What's wrong?"

Cullen didn't answer, just crawled on top of her, kissing his way up her body, tasting her sore breast softly before moving on until he found a tender place under her jaw that made her head tilt back into the pillows. She felt him brush against her entrance and she made a sound deep in her throat before he stopped. Her body was begging for him, but still he hadn't answered her question. "Cullen, what's wrong? Don't do this if you don't want it."

"I want it," he said, tracing a line up to her ear with his tongue. "You." He paused, breathing heavily. "And this is what I have to offer you."

A lonely, anguished whisper that broke her heart.

"No," she said as evenly as she could. His cock was so close to her, and she was so wet that he wouldn't need any help in taking her down that final path she craved, but that didn't matter if he did it out of fear that she wouldn't accept him any other way. She found his chin with her fingers and turned it to her, until his eyes were even with hers. "You offer everything. I have never met your equal."

Hope sprang around his uncertainty, so she rubbed his shoulder soothingly with her free hand and continued. "You are kind and generous. You are thoughtful and warm, and a friend that could rival Leliana when it came to my comfort. I've never felt so quick a connection with another person. I like you so much that I would have been glad for Leliana had she been with you, even as I wanted you only for myself," she said ruefully, and that made him smile and kiss her once more.

When he reached down to take himself in hand and guide him to her, she didn't stop talking. This was her Chant for him. The love that was bursting inside of her that would burn itself into beautiful ash. "You are a man of intelligence. Solid. Dependable. I would never need doubt you. You look at me as though I am better than I am. You are in my dreams, and you're beautiful in them. And you are brave. And -" She broke off with a low cry as he entered her, pressing her back into the softness of the bed. They held there, waiting, breaths in easy harmony. It was a perfect moment, fragile and soft, weaving inexorably between them both.

Cullen reached up to touch her cheek in a gentle caress, dragging his thumb to her lower lip where she kissed it. They stared at each other's face, lost in wonder, until the tension reached unbearable heights and he began to move.

He groaned her name, once, as he slid over her in quickening rhythm. When she wrapped her legs around his back to give him a better angle, he lost all semblance of control and grace and pounded inside of her with sheer power.

That pressure was back in her belly, the need to explode, and her words were the key to finding that peak once more. "Cullen, you… you overwhelm me. Your smile and your consideration and the way you make me want…"

"I want you to want only me," he said between breaths. "Please. Stay with me."

"I will," she promised, recklessly, foolishly. "Oh Cullen, always." So dangerous, but it was what he needed, and what she needed as well. She reached above her head in joy and felt herself tightening like a string about to snap. But she forced her eyes open, fighting against it to watch his face, twisted and anxious but still the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

And then his expression relaxed into a sweet surprise, and he looked so young and peaceful as he cried her name once more. The feeling of him emptying in her, the way his hips stuttered and jerked as he found completion, took her over the edge for the second time. With her name echoing on the stone, she finally closed her eyes and submitted to the pleasure he gave her.

* * *

The room was dark and silent, like a grave. As soon as Cassandra had found her breath, she'd blown out her candle and rolled back to stare at the invisible ceiling. She could hear him breathing next to her, uneven and awake. She should say something, do something, to ease them through this moment, but she was too caught up in cursing herself and her lack of control. Her rational mind was coming back from that place in the sky where Cullen had taken her, and she couldn't believe she'd been so foolish.

She knew better than to promise her loyalty to a man. No matter how handsome he was, how loving, how absolutely incandescent she felt in his arms. Love that lingered too long ended in only two ways, heartbreak or destruction, and neither was what she wanted. Neither was what they deserved. Small hurts only, the first parting of a love affair. That was what she allowed herself.

This was something altogether different.

Before she could draw breath to pass off her promise as the haze of arousal, the bed shifted underneath her as Cullen sat up. The moonlight was too weak to see much, but his outline was defeated. And she only saw his back.

"Cullen, wait," she said, panicked. What if he left now? They might never speak honestly again. Some things were easier to say in the dark.

He turned slightly, the lines of his profile blurred in the darkness. "I'm sorry I made you do that."

Cassandra frowned at his assumption she could be forced to do anything against her will. Yes, she'd been unwise, but she'd been unwise entirely on her own merits. "I was not made to do anything. I desired it all."

"Yes, I know. You told me you did. At the restaurant. And I -" He broke off and cleared his throat. "There's no code in the Templar rules of chivalry regarding asking a woman to soothe your ego through sexual coercion, but I imagine it would be forbidden. My only defense is that I didn't intend to do it, and that's poor defense indeed."

Cullen sighed, and it was a bitter wind in the cavern of her room. "I regret it. This was beautiful. You are as well, more than anything. But I seem to have a knack for twisting beautiful things into something terrible. I don't blame you for your anger. If you need to report me, I understand."

She sat up as well, totally bewildered. "I'm not angry. Not with you," she said. "Do you think I praised you because you demanded it of me?"

His face swung away again, which was confirmation enough.

"I did not," she said. Her heart ached that he thought so poorly of himself, and that her silence may have made it worse. "All of what I said is true, and more. Cullen, I don't lie. If those were the things you needed to know to be comfortable, I am glad that you know them. Even if this is over, they are all still true. Don't doubt your appeal. Your goodness." She picked at the sheets with a finger. "I cannot speak for all. But Leliana agrees with my assessment of you."

"You've talked to her about me?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

She laughed lightly. "Of course I have. First, Leliana would not have allowed me to remain silent, but you have also been at the front of my thoughts since we arrived," she said. "Besides, you spoke to her of me, did you not?"

"That's different," he muttered. "Someone like you will always be at the center of things."

"I can assure you I have never been," she said. "And I'm very flattered you think I should be." She scooted closer to him and rubbed his skin with her fingers. "Cullen, I don't know who or what has made you feel as though the world should ignore your merits, but I disagree with it entirely. And I do not need to be full of wine or desire to see it. Or tell you of it. You are wonderful."

He didn't answer, but his tension eased slightly. "You said you weren't angry with _me._ Who are you angry with?"

She looked for words that would be truth without pain. This was not the time to remind them both that this would fade away too soon. "Myself. For not being more careful," she said. He made a noise, but she shushed him. "And I am afraid. My fear often manifests as anger."

He swung around to face her in the gloom. "You? Afraid?" He shook his head. "I can't imagine it. You're so perfectly composed."

"I am not," she said irritably. Maybe Princess Pentaghast was perfectly composed. Cassandra would never be.

"Well, you don't need to be afraid of me," he said slowly. His fingers reached out and found the scar that always lived on her cheek, tracing it unerringly. She wondered if he could see better than she could in the dark. She wondered, if he couldn't, if he'd truly memorized her face so quickly. She wondered why that should thrill her instead of terrify her. He stopped and dropped his hand. "I won't hurt you. I could never."

 _But I will hurt you,_ she thought wildly. And it was true, and the fear of it was so strong she bit her lip against the cry. Of all of the times for her emotional control to desert her, this was by far the most inconvenient.

Fortunately he couldn't see her face, and he pushed himself up, away from the bed without hesitation.

"You're going?" she asked, and she winced at the vulnerable timbre of her voice. She sounded like a virgin girl worrying over the regard of her new lover, not the world-wise woman she was.

Cullen's voice was muffled from searching for his clothing as he said, "Yes. I shouldn't sleep here, not with my troops, well, on alert. And I need to check in on the mage's wing. I haven't had a chance yet today."

"I understand." She put the cool formality of the Right Hand back in her voice, to reassure him that she wasn't mooning over him. But perhaps it was too much disinterest. He straightened and came back to the bed.

His hand brushed over her hair, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead, then her mouth. "Cassandra. I thought you would want me to leave. Do you need me to stay?"

Another question. This time one that was half-truth, half-lie. He would stay, if she asked it, because he was a kind man, but he wanted to be gone. Perversely, the knowledge centered her again. No, she did not need him. She liked him. She was having an affair with him. That was their relationship. And now it seemed he'd no more meant his growled words than she had, once the desire had worn off. "No. You have your duties," she said, and her voice was her own again. "I just like being with you."

He kissed her once more. "I like being with you, too," he said. "But I'll admit I'm glad you don't need me tonight. I think I've embarrassed myself enough. Maker only knows what emotional outburst I'll have next." He pulled his shirt on and smiled down at her, teeth flashing white against the blackness. "And if I don't leave now, there is nothing in this world that will keep me from wanting you again. So thank you for the best evening I've had since I came to this place, despite the rough spots, and for being so understanding."

"No, thank you," she said, uncurling and rising to her knees. Cullen stopped smiling and breathed in as she stretched towards him to graze his cheek. "It is easy to be understanding with a man who has been such a charming and wonderful companion."

"I don't know how wonderful I am," he said, shaking his head and backing towards the door with a hurried step, "but I want to be, for you."


	11. First Love

"But how was it, really?" asked Leliana the next morning. She'd been very disappointed not to burst in on a doubly-occupied bed and was taking out her annoyance in interrogation.

Cassandra sighed and bit into another pastry. "As I said, it was fine."

The Orlesian snorted. "Cassandra, I saw you two. It looked considerably more than fine." A thoughtful look crossed her face. "Though I suppose he's been a Templar for a very long time. Living in the Chantry, he wouldn't have had much opportunity to learn any skill in the bedroom."

"That's not true!" snapped Cassandra, stopping short at the other woman's small grin. "You're insufferable."

"I can't believe you fell for that." Leliana leaned forward to grab more food. "So, was he better than that man you met in Val Royeaux? The ship captain with the forehead?" She waved vaguely over her face as she spoke.

Cassandra gave her a forbidding look. "I refuse to answer. This is completely inappropriate."

"As good as all that, then," said Leliana to herself. She smiled brilliantly, then changed the subject. "Very well. What will you do today?"

When Leliana gave in, it was usually a bad sign, but Cassandra would take whatever escape she could. "I'm unsure. Perhaps talk to other Templars who were present when Hawke was here. Try to get another perspective on her. She may have been less careful with those she considered unimportant."

"It's worth trying. I'm still waiting on my Darktown contacts to make sense. Reports are confusing. They say something is wrong here, with the mages, but whether or not Hawke is involved -" A knock rang out, and Leliana pivoted to the door like a cat spotting a mouse. "I think your ardent lover is here for his morning kiss."

Sighing, Cassandra tightened her robe and went to answer it. Even if it were him, she had no sense of what his mood might be. He hadn't left upset, but if his thoughts were even half as confused as her own, she could find anything waiting in the hall. She narrowed her eyes. Neutrality and blankness was the best strategy to avoid overwrought emotions. Though, to her own annoyance, she smoothed her hair down and took a deep breath before she opened the door.

It was indeed Cullen, but he wasn't alone, and he certainly wasn't searching out her affection. He was pale and wan, exhausted lines around his eyes that didn't vanish even when he forced a smile. He opened his mouth for a greeting, but her concern overrode him. "What's wrong?"

Her question seemed to startle him. "Ah, nothing?"

She glanced at the stranger standing next to him, who was looking around the hall vaguely. A man about her age with sandy blonde hair and expensive clothing. On the shorter side, but he carried himself as though he was taller than he was. He'd been a fighter, by his stance, but he was obviously out of practice, by the lack of awareness of his surroundings. Certainly not a Templar. Trained noble, most likely, one going to seed with age. He didn't seem to be a threat, but Cullen still looked worryingly awful.

"You look terrible," she said, then hastened to add when he winced, "Exhausted, I mean. Did you sleep at all? Was there something wrong with the mages? And who is this man?"

Cullen seemed torn as to what question to answer first, and the other man began to laugh. "Cullen, she's exactly as you described. Very to the point, and extremely enchanting. I envy you. But cautiously so. She reminds me far too much of a past companion of my own for comfort," he said. He reached out and took her hand without waiting. "Nevertheless, I'm still pleased to meet you, Seeker Pentaghast."

As he bent to kiss it with a playful smirk, Cassandra waited for that familiar tingle of joy, the glow of a handsome, flirting man to wash through her. Even when she was deeply inside another romance, she never failed to appreciate the thrill of other interest.

She frowned when there was nothing, then jumped as a dish crashed to the floor inside the room.

"I'm sorry, did you have company?" asked Cullen, taking a step backwards.

"Just Leliana," she said wryly, and Cullen relaxed.

He gestured towards his companion to begin an introduction, but the man barely seemed aware of them. He'd lost all interest in their conversation as soon as she'd mentioned her own companion's name and was trying to peer around her with limited success. She moved to block him and saw a flash of the Fereldan royal crest on his cloak. "I see. I assume you are His Majesty, King Cousland?"

"Call me Aedan," he said absently. "May I speak with Leliana?"

She felt oddly like a guarding mother as she said, "Yes, of course. Please come in."

When she opened the door and turned to face Leliana, the bard's expression was murderous. Without thinking, Cassandra took a half-step in front of the Fereldan men, unsure which had provoked her friend's rarely-seen rage, but knowing only she could protect them from it.

Aedan pushed past her recklessly. "Leliana," he said quickly. "Before you get angry -"

 _Too late_ , thought Cassandra, and her friend's derisive snort only gave the thought voice. Her Orlesian accents were pronounced as she asked, "What are you doing here, Your Majesty? I hope you and your queen have business in Kirkwall."

"No, it's only me," he said, and Leliana growled. Cassandra looked around, trying to find anything that could be used as a shield. Her weapons were too far away, and Leliana always slept with daggers strapped to her arms. By her stony face, they were certainly at hand now.

And yet the king kept moving towards her, against all logic. Hadn't they fought together in the Blight? This man had to know how deadly, and how constantly armed, Leliana was. Whatever had happened between them to cause such a rift, he should remember that much. Was the man suicidal?

"I just needed to see you," he said. "It's been months since you were in Ferelden."

"You were invited to the Conclave. You would have seen me there."

"With all of those people around? What kind of visit would it have been? You're here alone. Almost alone. I couldn't resist when I heard. And I can't believe you didn't tell me."

Leliana shoved him backwards when he got close enough. "There was a reason for that! Alistair died to keep you alive. To put you on the throne. You, Aedan. He would be ashamed of you, that you risk it like this."

"Actually, he'd be the first one to spur me on," said Aedan heatedly. "He was my friend, too, you know. I knew him just as well as you did."

"How convenient that you claim he would want you to do exactly what _you_ want to do," said Leliana. She looked up sharply as Cassandra tried to back out of the room. "Don't you dare!"

Cassandra froze and looked longingly at the open door behind her. It was becoming all-too-clear that the rift between them wasn't one of anger, and she made it a rule not to interfere with another's personal affairs. "It seems you and His Majesty have some differences to work out," she began.

"No, we do not! He's leaving. Come back in here."

"I'm not leaving!" said Aedan. He folded his arms stubbornly. "I love you, and I won't be sent away."

Leliana started and hissed, "Aedan!" She looked her audience, and Cassandra and Cullen both did their best impressions of deafness.

"Your friend can be trusted, I'm sure," he said. "And Cullen's too much in love with her to care what anyone says around him."

Cassandra tried to be even more deaf than she'd already been.

"That is not the point," said Leliana furiously. "Anora has been very understanding, but even she can't overlook such a blatant insult. Her husband traveling without her for no reason and declaring romantic attachment to someone else for all the world to hear? Nor would I expect her to overlook it! You promised to be discreet."

"I'm being discreet," he said. "I'm in a Templar garrison in Kirkwall, on a diplomatic visit, and it's just us. It's only us." He stepped forward once more, reaching for Leliana's shoulders. She didn't shake him away. "I'm doing all the things you made me promise I would, and I don't want to fight with you. Not in what little time we have. Please, Leliana. I've missed you so much, my love."

Leliana sighed, her anger fading. "That's not fair."

"I know," said Aedan softly. "Love isn't."

When he kissed her, Cassandra finally looked away. It wasn't right to intrude on something so private. And watching them come together, reunite around their anger, made her ache in a place of herself she didn't want to examine too closely. She turned to leave again, and this time Leliana didn't object. Likely she didn't even notice. As Cassandra closed the door she saw the smaller woman meet him more strongly, as though he was the only real thing in the world, and she wondered how her friend could have hidden this so well from her.

She clicked the door shut and turned around to look at Cullen with steely determination. "So, was there a problem with the mages?"

"Hmmm?" he said, then shook himself. "No. No problem."

Cassandra cast about for conversation. "Why don't I ever see them? Are they confined to their wing?"

"Ah, no. Not as such. But I may have suggested it, while you're here. A Seeker's powers…" he said. He looked at his hands uncertainly.

Oh. He'd made them afraid of her. She supposed she should be thankful. "Probably wise. Did you sleep at all?"

"Not very well."

"Was that my fault?"

"No!" he said quickly, but he still didn't meet her eyes. "Just bad dreams."

"I see," she said, studying him. She'd read Cousland so easily, but Cullen was oddly closed to her. He was nervous, though, and possibly still expected her to dismiss him in some way. It would be so easy to let him leave, to allow whatever pain was driving him to push a wedge between them, to no longer bridge the gap. To fall apart now, instead of later.

But he looked so tired. "What we are going to do, then, is go to your office, where you will sleep on the couch while I handle what work I can." She reached out to spin him around firmly.

He didn't resist, but he did protest. "I can't allow you to do that."

"You can, and you will. In fact, you are not allowing me to do anything. This is an order."

He laughed. "You sound like my mother again, trying to take care of me with force," he said. He paused. "I'm starting to wonder if I should be concerned that I'm so attracted to you."

She winced internally. "Maybe you should be," she said. "Now move."

"Yes ser," he said crisply. He saluted, and she couldn't stop her chuckle.

It died when she heard the unmistakable groan of a mattress settling. "That's my bed!"

"Well, you did lock them in your room," Cullen said. "And it's a very comfortable bed." He gave her a hesitant smile. "I certainly thought so."

* * *

He slept deeply as she worked. She kept the world outside of his office door, by coercion and force. He would not be disturbed.

And in between piles of paper she watched him pass dreamless time and tried to decide what to do. Aedan Cousland believed Cullen loved her. Not lightly, either, as she'd half-hoped. It was too late to uncross that line, but it was never too late to deal with a problem. When he awoke, what would she be? She hadn't expected him to be so unsure when she'd chosen him. His looks and his command had masked him too well, even from her Seeking eyes. And he looked so young now, soft and vulnerable as he slept. So easily wounded.

The question wasn't whether he would be hurt. He would be. She'd ensured that with her carelessness and lack of understanding. But if she left him later, he would blame her. If she left him now, he would blame himself. He already carried such disregard for himself that it might destroy him. And she knew very well how long such bitterness could last.

And in truth, it wasn't only him. She wanted this time, so desperately she could almost taste it in her mouth. Cassandra didn't lie, and she hadn't lied to Cullen. There had never been a man like this, for her, and to deny herself would be a pain that might cripple her as well.

She shook herself, catching her thoughts drifting perilously close to her mother. There would be no answer there, and truth had been lost long ago. Cassandra was her own answers. And she chose to take his anger later to keep him whole now.

When he woke, it was a slow process, as though he came back from a long distance. She had plenty of time to reach him before his eyes blinked into total awareness. "Hello," she said softly. "Would you like your lunch in here or in the mess?"

"My lunch?" His voice was rusty and dry, and he sipped the water she gave him with a mix of gratitude and irritation. "You let me sleep too long."

She ignored him. "I've done all the things I could. There is only a small amount of work remaining for you."

She expected him to make a joke about how he'd be replaced by her if she kept up her pace, but instead he was grave and still. "Thank you, Cassandra. I don't know how to repay you."

"You don't have to," she said. She smoothed a hand through his hair and kissed him deeply. When she pulled away she smiled at the soft wonder in his lovely, infinitely deep eyes. "I'm happy to take care of you."

* * *

The next weeks passed like a dream of another life. She'd peeled back a curtain to reveal another Cassandra, one who was allowed a permanent joy instead of bright, fleeting happiness. She knew better than to believe it. This was borrowed time that would vanish away too soon, but the illusion was soft and welcome while it lasted.

This Cassandra wasn't the Right Hand. She'd never been royal, never been a Seeker, and certainly never been involved in anything as complicated as a war. She lived in Kirkwall, a woman with power and friends, including the captain of the Guard and even a dwarf who ran a seedy bar. When she went into the city she was known but not bothered, welcomed but not courted, respected but not feared. She wore armor less and clothing more, and though she never again wore a heeled shoe, she did condescend - once - to wear a dress. Cullen's fervent approval was very gratifying.

Leliana and Aedan, who insisted on no formalities of rank, carried her with them like a shield against rumor, and even they seemed reflected and strange. They were in their own bubble world as well, a place without responsibilities or duties, and the depth of their devotion was almost terrifying.

She and Cullen often joined them at meals or on trips to the city, becoming a unit that was almost like family. There were no times more beautiful than when they were together, laughing and joking and fitting together. Aedan was charming and witty, and held no hint of even Leliana's darkness inside of him. Leliana was a new woman with him, light and easy when he touched her hand. And Cullen was the steady force that grounded them all when they threatened to fly too high, even while he smiled at her with unimaginable brilliance.

Because the brightest part of this stolen life was him, the man who cared for her more than should ever be possible. He never said the words, but the warmth of his love surrounded her like a blanket, and when they were together she sometimes forgot that she was the one showing him his worth. Cullen looked at her like she was precious and rare, his eyes full of amazement and that lovely wonder that ran through her blood and settled inside her heart. James the fletcher's son had looked at her the same tender way. But that had been in darkened corners, hidden and wrong, and this was the purest light. All of the Gallows could see his regard.

But Cullen never treated her like she was fragile, and when she fought in the training ring one afternoon he bet heavily on her in every match. And he did very well for himself, thanks to her skill. When some of his troops complained that he'd had inside information, he only smiled and said her worth was there for any of them to see. It wasn't his fault they'd overlooked her.

Leliana had teased her mercilessly for the way she'd fallen into his arms and kissed him with sweet gratitude, and the men in the yard had hooted and cheered even at the time, but Cassandra was busy living her shadow life and ignored them all. She was too in love with Cullen Rutherford to care.

* * *

There were only two places the illusion wavered. One was in the night, after he'd made her body sing and she'd wrenched cries of perfect joy from his throat. He was beautiful in bed, learning her body even better than he'd already intuited on his own, but each night he rose to return to his own rooms, to keep her reputation intact. She'd considered arguing, but secretly she was glad for the small reminder of the unreality of it all. If he'd been in her bed each morning, she might have convinced herself that this was something more than it could be, and it wouldn't do to lose her purpose. Every day brought her closer to leaving, to never seeing him again, and she couldn't allow herself to forget it. So every night she followed him to the door, wrapped in her robe and gave him lingering kisses, capturing his lips in delicate rhythm, until he opened the door and was gone.

And every night the kisses grew longer and he seemed to have a harder and harder time working the latch on the door.

The other time was in the morning, when Leliana and Aedan came to take their breakfast with her. It was one of the few places they didn't have to pretend distance, and Leliana sat in his lap and fed him as he teased her and told them both stories of Denerim. Cullen was never there, because Cassandra's reputation was, and his absence was another ache inside the beautiful life she was living. A part of her wondered if he would still look at her like she was precious if he saw her usually sour morning attitude. Each dawn was one day closer to the Conclave, and while shadow Cassandra was living a dream, the real Cassandra was no closer to her mission of finding someone to run the Inquisition.

So it was just as well he was never there to live through her early melancholy. She always saw him first when she opened the door to his office, well into the day. He smiled and rose to greet her, and he told her she was beautiful as he pressed his lips to her cheek. And she was ready with her own praises, her compliments that were never the same but always true. After a time he even seemed to believe her. Cassandra watched him flower into new confidence under her care, and she knew her decision had been the right one.

One breakfast, when Aedan had gone to bathe and it was just her and Leliana for the first time in ages, Cassandra looked across the table and touched her hand. The bard came back from whatever cloud she'd been on and gave her a startled, but clear-eyed, look.

"You lie well, Leliana."

"Well enough to hurt, not well enough to protect, it seems," she said.

Cassandra shrugged. "Take what the Maker sends and be thankful. There's no need to protect yourself from happiness."

"Fine advice coming from you," said Leliana, but she smiled to soften it. "It's good to see you finally happy."

"I'm always happy."

Her friend snorted. "I heard you humming a tavern song the other day after you came out of Cullen's office. The one about the milkmaid who met a soldier on the road…"

Cassandra cleared her throat quickly. "How long has it been, with Aedan?"

"Since the beginning." Leliana settled into the attitude of storyteller. "There once was a lay sister from Lothering, who was more than she seemed, but also much less. A handsome hero with a hard past and harder future met her there, and he spoke with the sweet voice of the Maker and told her to follow. And she did. She always will." She stopped, shrugging. "Sometimes it's that simple."

Nothing about it sounded simple to Cassandra. "You think the Maker…matchmade you?" she asked slowly. "But Aedan is married!"

"The world sometimes interferes with the Maker's will. He cannot make us perfect," said Leliana. "Besides, I told him to do it. It was the only choice. His country needs him, and I'm certainly not the equal of a country." She threw Cassandra a humorless glance. "Anora is pregnant. They'll have an heir at last."

"I'm sorry."

"It was the only choice," she said again.

Silence fell, and Cassandra had nothing to fill it.

"Anora has the worse of it. I don't know if she loves another - I've certainly never asked - but if so her expressions of it have to be even more careful than Aedan's. The Game is played, even in Ferelden," said Leliana. She laughed lightly. "Though I suppose this would be the only time she can be safe in an affair. Perhaps she wouldn't be so angry at Aedan's abandonment as I fear."

She sobered. "I hope she isn't. I would hate to be so happy at the expense of her pain."

"I'm sure she's very glad he's here," said Cassandra with as much surety as she could muster.

"Oh Cassandra, you truly are such a lovely, terrible liar. But here we are, in this rotten city, and it's sent us the loves we've always wanted." The Orlesian's closed her eyes and tilted her head to the ceiling. "It's all like a beautiful dream, isn't it?"

"I don't want to wake up," said Cassandra softly. And it was true, for all that the real Cassandra was terrified and waiting for her.

Leliana sighed. "I know," she answered, just as soft. "Maker, do I know."


	12. Publicity Hounds

_A/N: Apologies for the delay; I've been traveling for work and they didn't afford me much time for writing. Their priorities are all wrong! Hopefully this long-ish chapter makes up for it._

* * *

It was one week until they left, and two weeks to the day after her first date with Cullen, when Aveline met her for her promised drink. They'd seen each other several times since the scene at the Gallows at the Viscount's seat of power. The Viscount was a drunk, as expected, and the Seneschal was surprisingly sanguine about his ruler's drunkenness, but Aveline had always made her welcome in her formal, cool way. So it was a bit of a surprise to meet her at the specified Hightown tavern and find her out of her armor and smiling broadly.

The tavern was bright and airy, designed for being seen rather than secret assignations. Cassandra knew enough to understand that the seemingly random seating of the occupants was actually a complicated social code, but she'd never been able to care much about those kinds of signals. Luckily Aveline had already chosen a place for them, off to the side near the card tables, and she wouldn't have to offend anyone with her ignorance.

"Glad you could make it, Seeker," said Aveline as Cassandra took the stool next to her. She signaled the bartender subtly, and two drinks materialized in front of them. When Cassandra frowned at the glasses, Aveline shrugged. "Guards always get good service in this place."

Cassandra took a sip of the pale amber liquid and raised her eyebrows. "Good quality as well."

"Exactly," said Aveline. "And don't be shy about having it. I feel I owe you after our first meeting."

"I'm never shy about good drinks, Guard Captain," she said, and took another swallow. "However, after so many trips to the Hanged Man I'm not sure my palate can be trusted to appreciate them."

The red-haired woman barked a laugh. "More than fair. Varric's concoctions have burned out many a tongue. Still, do your best," she said. "And call me Aveline, I beg you."

"Very well, as long as I can be Cassandra."

"If you like." Aveline leaned back and sighed. "Maker is it nice to be out with a proper woman again. You'd be amazed at how many here will turn up their nose at a good ale."

"You miss Hawke?" Cassandra sighed internally at the duty that she could never quite shed, even on a social call. "And your other friends?" she added, trying to soften the inadvertent interrogation.

"Ha! Hawke was the pickiest drinker of us all. Merrill, the Dalish girl, didn't drink at all, and the less said about Isabela the better," said Aveline, wrinkling her nose. "She certainly drank anything, so long as she was on someone's lap as she did."

"Leliana is much the same. But always for a greater cause."

"Isabela's only cause was her own pleasure," said Aveline darkly.

A groan sounded over the card players as a hand came in for a woman with a pile of gold in front of her, and Aveline cleared her throat meaningfully. The woman nodded imperceptibly and announced a break in the game, scooping up her winnings and heading for the exit. Cassandra smiled, and Aveline tipped her head.

"Anyway, I'm afraid my social circle hasn't ever been much to speak of. My lads and lasses do their best, but no one can ever really relax with someone who can put them on a month of Darktown patrols at her whim."

"You don't seem the type to do that."

"Every leader is the type, if she's had a bad enough day," she said with a rueful grin. "And a woman carrying twins has a lot of bad days."

Cassandra looked at her stomach, startled, and then the glass she held.

Aveline laughed. "Not anymore. Happy and healthy and with their father this afternoon." A happy smile softened her eyes. "He spoils them rotten, poor fool." She snapped back to the present. "But you didn't come here to hear about my family."

"I'd be very interested," said Cassandra. "You seem quite settled. As an agent of the Divine, I mostly see the beginnings and endings of relationships."

"Wouldn't it ruin Varric's novel for you?"

Cassandra kept her face carefully impassive, and Aveline laughed again. "I don't blame you for reading it. The man tells a good tale, even if it burns me that he's telling mine," she said. "I went to see him, you know. After you released him far too soon for my liking. We came to an understanding about what would, and wouldn't, be written."

"If I may say so, I'm glad that you did," said Cassandra. She spoke slowly. "I believe Varric is less content than he pretends."

"That's an understatement," said Aveline. "Not that the same thing couldn't be said about us all. But you're right that I haven't been the friend to him I might have been. That I should have been. That's my shame, and I'll fix it. Thank you for that truth, Seeker. Cassandra," she corrected.

The two women drank in silence for a minute before Aveline gave her a sly glance. "So. You and Cullen Rutherford."

Cassandra flushed hotly and stared at the table. "Did he tell you?"

"He didn't have to tell me. Half of Kirkwall is talking about it. And all of Hightown."

She nearly spat a mouthful of ale onto the table. "All?" she asked, coughing. "I find it hard to believe I am that interesting."

Aveline gave her a pitying look. "Cassandra. Cullen is one of Kirkwall's most influential citizens, and a notorious bachelor besides. All of his moves are scrutinized by the bored elite and those who wish to become it," she said. "So when he suddenly shows a preference for a beautiful stranger, especially one who turns out to be one of the highest-ranking, non-celibate members of the Chantry, the news spreads so quickly and so far that it can hardly be called news."

Cassandra scowled. "I'm not comfortable with my life being so public."

"You won't get much of a choice around here," said Aveline. "I can hardly sneeze without Donnic being offered a dozen handkerchiefs to wipe my nose. They held competitions to name our children, you know. Not that I took any of their suggestions. That's the trick. Be firm and ignore them."

"Did you ask me here to give me dating advice?" asked Cassandra, raising her eyebrow. Aveline was much more like her than she'd realized during their first meeting, and this level of interest in someone else's personal affairs was uncharacteristic.

"Not exactly," said the captain, and a touch of embarrassment crossed her face. "Not at all, honestly. I invited you out because, as I said, I haven't had good drinking company in some time, and I needed the distraction. But while we're here, I was hoping to help you."

"I wasn't aware I needed help."

Aveline snorted. "Which is exactly why you do." She leaned forward on her elbows. "I'm not much of one for the romantic arts, as anyone will tell you, but I do understand crimes that can't be punished. You can't get more underhanded than the upper class. And you've riled them up good and proper."

Cassandra stared at her, bewildered. "What have I done?"

"You've taken away one of Kirkwall's most eligible men. A highly sought-after prize. This is an offense greater than any abomination wandering the streets, believe me. The ladies' teas have been quite cutting."

It was strange to hear someone talk about Cullen so coldly, like he was a melon on a fruit stand. Besides, it wasn't as though he'd been surrounded by suitors when she'd arrived. Cassandra took a drink and considered her words carefully. "Cullen implied that his attempts at dating in the city were not received with permanent enthusiasm."

"Ha!" Aveline shook her head. "Typical. I say this as a friend, but he has the absolute worst taste in women of anyone I've ever met. Present company excluded," she added quickly. "But in a room full of a hundred swooning applicants, he'd unerringly find the one woman only interested in a few rolls in the sheets with a handsome man. I mean, for Andraste's sake, Hawke? And the dockworker, the one who had ten men on a string. Plus the Seneschal's cousin, who, I can tell you, lacks the responsibility of her relations. Cullen even courted Isabela for a time."

"The pirate?" Cassandra couldn't hide her shock. Perhaps she'd gotten the name wrong.

Aveline hardly noticed. "If you can call what she did courting. Indecent, really," she muttered. "Anyway. He's a good man, and it's obvious what he needed was a good, steady woman, one with a head on her shoulders and an eye toward the long-term. I'm married, very happily, or I might have done the job myself just to save him from himself. But I'm more glad for you both than I can say. And I'll be damned if a bunch of scheming ninnies are going to shake you loose from him."

 _They just need to wait a week,_ thought Cassandra dully. Heat flooded her face at the realization that Cullen had, once again, chosen a woman who was exactly wrong for him. Looking for a few rolls in the sheets with a handsome man summed her up very well, and to hear it said so plainly, and so unknowingly, hit her with the weight of a fist to the gut. She had always been honest, but somehow it had gotten away from her here. And it hurt that this woman, one she admired, would despise who she truly was.

She finished her drink to push the ache away. The city pined for him. At least he wouldn't be left alone.

"They're just spreading rumors now, but soon it will be the seductions," Aveline continued, oblivious. "And after that will come the accusations of wrongdoing, the calls for your arrest. Baseless, but well-designed."

"I wish you luck in attempting to arrest me, Captain. My blade remains sharp," said Cassandra, smiling, and Aveline grinned. She asked more seriously, "What rumors are they spreading about the Knight-Commander?"

"None about him. Just you."

"Oh," said Cassandra, waving her hand dismissively. "That's of no consequence, then. I pay no mind to rumors. And Cullen is not one to fall prey to seduction. Poor planning, in all phases. These women lack skill at waging a campaign."

"So you're not royalty who ran away from her family to pursue a scandalous relationship with a commoner, who abandoned you pregnant and penniless in Nevarra?" asked Aveline with a small laugh. "That was one of the more ridiculous ones."

Cassandra froze, just for a moment, before forcing herself to relax and laugh as well. Aveline moved on to more advice about Kirkwall nobility, but her words were distant and incomprehensible. Was it only a coincidence that there was a rumor so close to her own history? Perhaps. It wasn't exactly an unheard of idea for a story, and the fact that she'd been royal was known to at least some of the city. But even that much similarity took her inexorably back to the small village where she'd learned that truth was a thing best sought outside of the heart.

She sat lost in the past until she heard, "Varric also told me he's had a new idea for a serial. _Woman Seeking Templar_ , he said he'll call it."

"He what?" asked Cassandra, snapping back into the moment. "No. Absolutely not. I will break his fingers."

Aveline snorted into her drink, and they traded ideas of appropriate dwarven punishments as the shadows lengthened around them into night.

* * *

The trip back to the Gallows was sweltering turmoil, the past and the present roiling together in her mind. She was a scandal. She was no better than a pirate who preyed on men to abandon them. She was stealing a life that was no more substantial than the air. She was a Seeker of Truth who had turned herself into a lie.

So when she saw Cullen waiting for her at the end of the pier, that brilliant, youthful grin on his face, it twisted inside of her until she could barely look at him. He loved the wrong Cassandra, the shadow Cassandra, and the jealousy roared through her. It mingled with the ever-present envy of a distant village girl with hair clenched inside a fist.

Cullen pulled her out of the book with ease and kissed her softly on the cheek. "Welcome back, princess," he said with a smile. "Did you have fun with Aveline?"

His face changed as though by magic and became the boy from her past who'd seen her royalty as a challenge, who could never forget what she was until she was far enough away to forget her entirely. Had Cullen heard the rumors? Was he trying to remind her of her unsuitability? Did he finally understand who she really was?

Nonsense, all of it, from his broad smile and light tone, but the ale and the heat and the faces that mixed and danced meant the dock was shifting under her as though it followed the whims of the sea. She couldn't steady herself against the storm.

Instead she pulled away sharply, and his smile vanished. "Don't call me that," she said. The ice in her voice came as a surprise, given the flaming heat she felt on her cheeks. She stalked up the stairs and to her room, fighting desperately to keep the pain of memory at bay.

* * *

A knock came at the door, as insistent and annoying as only one person could be.

"Cassandra, it's me," called Leliana from the hall. "Open the door. You know I won't stop until you do." The knocking broke into a dancing rhythm before moving back to its more stable, droning beat.

Cassandra knew all too well that Leliana told the truth about her stamina, so she wrapped her robe more tightly around herself and rose to answer it. Her bed was more nest than anything else by now, a circle of blankets where she'd sat, staring into the middle distance and unbraiding and braiding her hair with nimble, unfeeling fingers. She felt wrong, and when she felt wrong the only solution was to be inside herself until she felt right again.

Leliana often interrupted the process.

When Cassandra yanked open the door with a scowl, Leliana melted back into the hall without so much as a glance and left Cullen staring at her with nervous eyes. Cassandra pulled her robe further closed, ridiculously. He'd seen her undressed more than once, in full streaming light, but she was somehow ashamed to be exposed in front of him now.

"I brought you dinner," he said, holding the tray in front of him like a shield. "You weren't there."

"Why did you have Leliana knock?" asked Cassandra, ignoring the offering.

"Would you have answered me?"

Because the answer was no, and because there was no reason it should be anything but yes, she said nothing. He gave a tiny, helpless shrug that was more eloquent than any speech, and she couldn't look at him anymore. She turned around and moved back to her nest of blankets, unwinding her hair once more. Cullen followed slowly, his movements deliberate and delicate as he set the tray on her table, then pulled a chair up next to the bed. The scraping sound of wood on stone was a lonely one.

To her surprise he said nothing, and she sensed his eyes on her. "What do you see?" she asked.

"Strength," he said. "Beauty. Intelligence. My own heart, beating in your hands." Her fingers stuttered in their motions before continuing. "And too much pain to bear. I'm sorry for my part in it."

"You have no reason for apology," she said. Her braid was half undone. "My irrational reactions are not your responsibility."

Cullen released a breath. "I would like them to be," he said. "Though I know that isn't fair to hope for so soon." He paused. "You never talk about your past."

"It is of no consequence. You know the things that are of any interest."

"I'm interested in all of you, Cassandra." She finally looked at him sidelong, and he leaned forward to capture her without touch. "Tell me about your family," he said, in a command so gentle it couldn't be ignored.

"I have no family," she said evenly. "They're all dead."

No response, just that empty, yawning space waiting to be filled. She tried to stay inside, to heal herself, but wisps of Cassandra floated out into the comfort of his concern. "My parents died when I was just a child. They rebelled against King Markus and were executed for it. My father was ambitious, they told me, but what little I remember of him makes that seem unlikely. He liked books and the way the water sounded when it sang over stone," she said. She smiled suddenly, and it hurt. "He gave me a wooden boat to sail in the brook on our estate. I dropped it in the river when we left."

"Who was we?" asked Cullen, his gentleness still a scalpel, cutting her open and releasing words unbidden.

"My brother, Anthony, and my uncle Vestalus. He took charge of us. He is alive, but he wasn't family," she said bitterly. "Anthony was killed by mages for his dragon hunter's blood. Our blood is said to be a hallmark of the Pentaghasts. The death was supposed to be mine, but somehow I have never had to pay for my own sins." She blinked to stop a tear from forming. "I often wonder if that sacrifice is what allowed me to defeat my own dragon. Maybe the mages knew something after all. Perhaps I always lived inside of the blood that flung across me when they slit his throat, and I used the last of my brother's life to kill."

She shook her head. "But either way, I have no family now." Her braid was finally gone, and she began the painstaking business of recreating it once more.

With unexpected speed, Cullen was next to her, and he stilled her busy fingers. "Don't," he whispered, staring at her without blinking. She wet her lips, expecting him to kiss her. It would be welcome, the distraction, the replacement of all of this past with a present full of pleasure. She was already turning towards him, lips parting, when he pressed against her side and wrapped his arms around her. His kiss only found the top of her head, and she closed her eyes.

"Why do you wear your hair in a crown if you despise your birth?" he asked quietly.

An image rose behind her lids of a perfect afternoon, of speaking of weddings and futures with a mother who would fall to the Maker's side a year later. "My mother gave it to me," she said quietly. "To hold the princess that I can never be rid of. The rest is Cassandra, but I cannot escape it all."

 _You are so loved_ , she heard from a great distance, and her face twisted away from the memory. "She was the last person who saw me as I am."

As soon as she said it, she wanted to take it back, terrified that Cullen would contradict her and say that he himself knew her. To remind her that he'd so fully fallen in love with her pretense that he believed it was all she was. But instead he said, "Why do you sound so angry about her?"

And she realized that she did, that she'd growled out the words in the same tone she used in the fighting ring. "I don't know," she said, turning aside. Her chest was tight and binding.

"Why?"

"Stop asking why! There is no why of me, there's just me," she said, trying to leave the circle of his arms.

He didn't let go, and his voice was strained and low. "I love you, Cassandra. I do, and I have, from that first minute you stepped into my life. I hate your pain. I hate it, and I can't fight it, and when I don't understand it I hurt you. Help me."

Her chest contracted still more, an unbearable tension with nowhere to release. He didn't push again, but she was already pinwheeling over the cliff, and perversely she wanted to fall. "She left me," she said harshly. "I didn't understand then. I was too small. I thought it was right, the way they went together. I watched them die, in love. But I learned later - I know now - that she could have stopped it. She could have turned on him and stayed, but she was loyal to my father until death. My mother loved him too much to think of me. And so I lost my life, too, only I had to keep living. I have done it, but I refuse to let nobility be my legacy. If I must be a princess, I will fight against it. I will be valued as myself. And my mother will know I didn't need her, after all."

"I'm sorry." And he did sound sorry, an ache in his voice almost as strong as the one she was containing with all of her strength. He didn't say that her mother had loved her. He didn't say that she should forget, or accept, or any of the expected things. Instead he pulled away and brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek, as though he saw the unshed tears that burned inside her eyes. "Will you show me how to make the braid?"

Cassandra touched his hands, guiding them into the long, dark weave of her hair, and showed him the movements that would bring the separate strands together into a whole. He urged her to lay back, and she let exhaustion take her away as his fingers wove through them, tugging softly and soothing her into peaceful sleep.

* * *

She woke in the dark, unsure of the time, and Cullen stirred around her. He'd stripped off his shirt, and he was so warm, like a furnace against her back. It was a welcome heat, as gentle and undemanding as its creator. Still, she tried to sit up, stopping only when her bedmate yanked her back down. Her robe had drawn apart as she slept, and he'd slipped a hand inside to rest over the slow beat of her heart.

"I'm hungry," she whispered when he made a sleepy protest at her movement.

"Wait," he answered. His voice was graveled and rough, but he swung up and lit the candle by her bed without pausing. His face glowed in its light, all the lines and worries of a Knight-Commander erased, and her breath caught in her throat as he lit another and carried it to the table where he'd left the food.

When he returned, he fed her by candlelight, careful offerings of breads, fruits and cheeses. All her favorites, things he'd learned without words and seen without telling her. She didn't know when she grew tired of the food and began tasting him instead, small licks to his fingertips as he brought them close, kisses to his palms when his hands were empty. The world narrowed again until it was only them, his scent and touch and the safe bubble he carried around him like armor. She relaxed and teased him mercilessly inside of it, drawing his fingers into her mouth with increasing force as her longing grew.

Cullen shivered and darkened at every touch of her mouth, but after he finally set the light aside and swept the food away, he touched her face with tender care. "My turn," he said and smiled at the questioning look she gave him. He kissed her eyelids, then her mouth, before opening her robe with strong, urgent hands. He coaxed her to lay back, against her strong objections since it took her mouth away from his, but when his tongue traced lines down her body after his fingers, she relaxed and let him go where he would.

And he went everywhere. Cullen bathed her body in touches and kisses, and she moaned appreciatively at every new place he set aflame. The curve of her hips. The underside of her breasts. The crease of her elbow, the spur of her ankle, the tips of her collarbone were all ignited as he traveled. He pushed away any attempt to reciprocate, so she curled her fingers desperately in his hair instead, when he was close enough. When he wasn't, he reached up with a hand to squeeze her own, keeping them together while he made her fall apart.

Finally his face looked up from the juncture of her thighs, and despite the raw need on his face he said, "May I?"

The sweet desire he'd awakened in her melted into a liquid heat that pooled deliciously in her belly. Cullen always asked. "Please."

He grinned, once, at the strain in her voice, then tasted her in earnest. After the first kiss to her core, he wasn't gentle any longer. His fingers dug into her, pulling her toward him, and she gripped the sheets beside her helplessly as her hips bucked and spasmed underneath his ministrations. He'd spent a patient evening learning every trick of his lips and every flick of his tongue that drew a response, but now he was no longer learning. He was the master, the instructor, and he strung together pleasures like beads on a necklace until there was no separation between the peaks. His fingers and tongue explored her with violent, focused energy, and all she could do was hold on and call his name into the darkness.

Each repetition of it seemed to drive him onward, like a spell that she was weaving with her voice. Cullen, Cullen, always Cullen. She looked down with great effort, to remind herself of his beauty, and she watched his jaw flexing and working in the dim light, seeking only her pleasure. The thought was enough to destroy her control, but she held on grimly, wanting the moment to last. This man taking care of her and making a part of her loved once more.

She cried his name again when he curled his fingers inside her, and he glanced up to meet her gaze with terrifying hunger. It wasn't just for her body, but her spirit, and she couldn't look away. She only broke eye contact when his tongue traced a deliberate circle around her core and sent her tumbling over the highest edge she'd ever reached. He rode it out with her, twisting and kissing and soothing her as she crested, but as soon as the storm was past he was on her again, his cock pressed to her slick thighs.

"Yes," she said before he could ask, her voice cracking, and he took her swiftly. There was no pause to feel her, no stopping to savor them together, just relentless movement that had her flying once more to the open sky.

Cullen's voice was a rough song in her ear, singing her name over her like a prayer. His sweat mingled with her own until there was no separation, and her hands roved over his slick body, even hotter than before. Snatches of the Chant mixed inside her name, and for the first time she felt she might almost be as holy as people assumed she was.

"Call me princess," she said. She breathed in sharply as he stuttered and stopped moving. "You make everything beautiful, Cullen. Make it beautiful, too."

He gripped her shoulder tightly and kissed her neck before settling back in to his steady pace. "Princess," he said softly, and she arched up to him like a dancer. Cullen groaned into the night. "Cassandra, my princess. Mine. Oh please. So beautiful. So good. So -" He broke off with a gasp and his fingers tightened dangerously. "I'm so close. For you. You're… oh Maker you…"

She leaned up to bite at his jaw, needing the reality of his maleness, the coarse feeling of his burgeoning beard on her tongue. His hips rocked and thrust against her uncontrollably when her teeth found his neck, releasing his trapped need with a beautiful violence. "I love you," he cried, and that broke the wave inside of her once more, crashing her into the rocks and breaking her to pieces.

When they were finished he collapsed onto her, for once not worrying that his weight might crush her. For once her not worrying about this wrong, stolen love.

She stroked his back gently as he breathed, and when he kissed her earlobe she sighed. "Sleep here tonight," she said. She felt him tense, and she rushed to fill the space before he could argue. "Please, Cullen. I don't want you to go."

It wasn't a lie. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so open, so raw, so susceptible to pain of the outside world. If he wasn't here, who knew what might come into this vast space the shadow Cassandra was leaving behind her? She wasn't real enough to keep the parts of her separate and protected from harm.

There was a long silence as Cullen considered her words. Eventually he rolled away, and Cassandra's heart raced in panic, afraid that it wasn't enough that he loved her and that she needed him. So much fear, hammering at her heart, and it silenced her as nothing else could. She had only one thought, bright and shining - if he left her now, she would find no more sleep here.

But he only blew out the nearby candles, then came back to settle her against his side. "Of course," he said, his voice strained but sure. "Anything you need."


	13. Pillow Talk

That night she learned why Cullen really left her room every night.

Cassandra woke into full battle awareness at his cry of pain, reaching for the sword that wasn't there, but Cullen remained trapped in sleep. Trapped was the right word, as her quick glance at his face revealed a deep agony that could only come from the Fade.

She no longer remembered dreams, the Seeker power that blocked possession also blocking all memory of time spent beyond the Veil, but their emotions still lingered well enough even now for her to know what they were like. And Templars were more prone to deep dreams than most, the lyrium they took attracting demons to them as easily as to mages. She'd been trained almost from the beginning to never interrupt a dreaming Templar. A mage's only power came from their lyrium, which she could control if they woke lost. A Templar with full battle training, carrying a nightmare across the Veil, might kill whomever stood in front of them without question.

Cullen had been at Kinloch. He'd fought here, in this same building, against dozens of blood mages. What sort of horrors might he hold for the demons to twist?

His face gleamed in the moonlight, tracks of tears marching down his face as he trembled. He said her name, once, and it was no longer reverent but terrified.

She laid down, tense and wary, and waited for him to come back.

* * *

Cullen jerked awake with a shout, half-sitting up before she placed her hands on his sweat-drenched chest. He looked down at them in disbelief, his eyes wild and suspicious. "No," he said. "You're not real."

"I'm here," she said, trying to keep her voice soothing. "It's Cassandra."

He snarled. "You always say that. But it's not true, and I won't break."

Who had tried to break him? It didn't matter. Focus on the moment. "I don't want to break you. You're safe, Cullen."

"You always say that, too," he said, but his tone was more uncertain. He looked around him, still avoiding her face. His eyes hardened. "No. I don't sleep in her bed. I would never risk her that way. I've killed you before, demon, and I'll do it again if you don't leave me alone."

He punctuated the last word with a shove to her shoulder that she didn't see coming. She fell back and caught herself on her hands, gasping, and that snapped his attention on her. She was still naked, which she realized from the tightness of his jaw was a vast mistake, but it was too late to correct it now. Cullen looked like he wanted to tear her apart, and she wondered if she'd be able to fight him this way. She wondered if she could do it without hurting him.

"Why do you make yourself so perfect?" he said with a growl. "It's never convincing." His eyes roved over her hungrily, darkly, and she shivered with something that wasn't entirely fear. "She's more than you'll ever be, more than you ever made me dream, and I don't need this anymore."

Cassandra frowned in thought. He thought she was a desire demon, clearly, which was oddly flattering, and he seemed to be well aware of what an interaction with it should be. How could she convince him he'd been released from the Fade? She could try to shock him to awareness with pain, but that might send him to violence. She could use words, but demons were known for their persuasiveness. And sleeping with him obviously out of the question.

Then she saw. The one thing a demon would never do. "Then go," she said calmly. No rancor or emotion. "You're here because I asked you to be, because I was afraid, but you're free to go. This is no dream, and you're in control."

His eyes lifted to her face, startled, and he opened his mouth as though to speak before closing it in a thin line. He threw the covers off, and she did her best not to react to the suddenly unfettered view of his desire. Cullen backed away from her warily, fists clenched until he hit the door with a thump. He felt behind him for the knob, then pulled it open and spun around in a quick movement. Cassandra hoped fervently there was no servant on a late-night errand waiting in the hall to see him, but he blocked the door too well for her to know if one of his charges could see him.

Or even worse, Leliana.

But she heard no giggles or screams, and he turned back around with a strange expression on his face. "Cassandra?"

"Close the door," she said. "Leliana doesn't always sleep through the night."

He did as she said absently, already peering through the moonlight to study her face. "Did I… did I do anything?" He didn't say it, but the fear in his voice was enough for her to know what he meant. Had he hurt her in some way.

"You pushed me, just now," she said. "It did not hurt. Other than that, there was nothing."

"Thank the Maker," he said in a low voice. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have stayed here. I was ten times a fool."

He approached to find his clothes, trying to stay as far away from her as possible, so she rose and crossed the room to touch his arm. "Come back to bed," she said.

"I can't," he said, pulling away as though she was made of fire. "You have no idea how close I was."

She moved until she was in his eyesight. "To what?" He didn't answer, and she added, "I told you my troubles when you asked."

"Don't make me say it." His gaze dropped to her breasts, and he swallowed heavily. "I have to go."

Cassandra saw the fragility on his face, the raw pain still lurking, and she wasn't brave enough, or angry enough, to push any further. She covered herself with her hands as best she could and turned away. "Very well," she said. She crossed back to the bed and slipped under the sheets, carefully hiding herself from his gaze, then waited for the sound of the door opening and closing.

It didn't come. There was only a distance that stretched out underneath them like a carpet of silence.

"At Kinloch I was trapped inside a prison of magic, and the mages and demons tortured me there for days," he whispered. She stayed with her back towards him, granting him the space he needed to remember. He told her about the taunts of the mages and the strategies they'd employed against him. They'd soon learned that desire was his greatest temptation, and those possessed by desire demons came to him with whispered promises that made him ache. But he was strong, stronger than they'd realized for one his age, and it took them a little more time to understand that it was the desires of his heart that were the more deadly lure.

Before Aedan and Leliana had come to free him, the demons had found what he wanted most, and they'd given it to him in the worst possible way.

"What was it?" she asked quietly when he paused.

"It was you," he said, and his voice was thick with tears. "Not your face, of course. I'd never even seen you to know what you looked like, and demons can't see what doesn't exist. But I recognized your heart as soon as you landed. The woman in my dreams, the one spun out of all of my desires, and the one I've always been waiting for, without ever believing you were real."

They were echoes of her mother's words, and she was glad he couldn't see her face.

"I loved her, that woman they created in my mind. She was never as beautiful as you are, but she was strong and unyielding and absolutely unafraid. For years, it felt like, she was my partner, and we lived a beautiful life. She loved me, too, of course, because they'd made her to torture me," he said. "When they had me at their mercy, completely happy with the illusion, they changed the dream. First they hurt her and made me watch. Even though a part of me knew she wasn't real, somehow, it didn't matter, because all of me cherished her. They tired of that game, eventually, and then they made me hurt her. They tricked me, let the mask slip, showed me the demon wearing her spirit, and I did terrible things. I killed her a dozen times. I did worse than that. My nightmares never let me forget."

His voice cracked. "But they'd been fading, until you got here. When I met you I could barely breathe, and that she never looked like you is the only thing that's kept me whole. It wasn't really you. It couldn't have been. I tried to stay away, but how could I resist someone l wanted so much, especially when you smiled or laughed and showed me that beautiful heart? So now the dreams are back, and it's always your face, and I still hurt you. I… make you do things you don't want," he said, and he didn't elaborate. But he didn't have to.

"It's the Fade, Cullen. Not real," she said. He always asked. "And I do want you."

He didn't seem to hear her. "The worst part is that I like it. Not the crying or the pain but the control. I enjoy the power," he whispered."What if I'm a monster? What if they made me one? I've loved the promise of you for so long, and you're even more wonderful than my pitiful imaginings, but I can't ask you to risk staying with me. I'd given up on it all before you got here. I'd moved on from that desire. I can do it again. Sometimes I think I'm still at Kinloch and this is just the next game they're playing. You're playing. Letting me think it was gone, and then starting all over again."

"I'm real," she said firmly, but she was painfully aware of the inadequacy of the assurance. Again her mind whirled, searching for more things that a demon would never do. Looking for a way to assure him that he was no monster, that he was in fact the most beautiful man she'd ever known. An idea struck her, and she stopped breathing at its enormity. But she trusted him, and he deserved to be healed before she went, if she could.

She threw back the sheet and rose in a graceful movement. She heard him whimper, and he started to back away, but she was too fast for him. "Cullen," she said as she took his hand. "Look at me."

He did, brown eyes nearly black in the shadows. She pulled him forward until she was standing directly in the shaft of moonlight, and his breathing grew shallow as he stared. His cock had softened when he spoke his memories, but it was rising again, though his face twisted into terror. "Cassandra…"

"I want you," she said again, and his eyes flashed once. "I'm yours," she added, and this time it wasn't a flash but a sustained gleam of absolute need. "I trust you. You will not hurt me. Show me what you desire. You don't have to ask."

"Don't tempt me," he said, but he stepped closer. "You don't know."

 _I know I love you_ , she thought sadly. She hid that away deep inside of herself and only said, "I know."

Cassandra watched his self-imposed control break, and he swept her into his embrace in the space of a breath. His mouth demanded entrance, and she let him in. His hands demanded compliance, and she submitted. She went where he commanded, kissed where he pointed, and touched where he craved. The only order she gave herself was to speak, in the small spaces of hesitation, and reassure him that she wanted.

It wasn't a lie.

He hadn't been wrong about what he liked. He didn't want to hurt her or cause pain, just have her at his whim, and she'd played that role before. With the way he made her feel, she would play it with him as often as he wanted. This was his skillful display of the night before brought to even fuller realization, and the growling commands he gave were deliciously alluring. His voice deepened as his need increased, and she had to stop herself from begging more than once when he instructed her to pull away from the pleasure he gave. He hadn't told her to beg.

There was nothing he wanted that was strange, nothing he needed that wasn't natural, and by the end his fear had been replaced entirely with joy in her willingness to give herself over to him. When he threw her over her peak for the final time, he followed her with a shout, and she knew the nightmares wouldn't come back while she was here.

* * *

"You two make it very hard to sleep, you know," said a man's voice, and Cassandra blinked up into the morning sunlight. Aedan stood over the bed with an amused look in his eye, and she automatically clutched at the sheets covering her. "Sorry to disturb you so early, but you do happen to live in our usual breakfast haunt."

Cassandra glared at him, and he walked back to the table where Leliana was waiting. She opened her mouth to give them both a lecture on privacy when Cullen made a small noise in his throat, adorably, and rolled over to nuzzle her without opening his eyes. Leliana's delighted face grew even more delighted.

"Good morning," said Cullen sleepily. "I dreamed about you again. Nice dreams. I want to show you."

Aedan leaned forward as he munched on an apple, and Cassandra was torn between killing their observers and encouraging Cullen's hand roving underneath the sheets. Eventually she split the difference and pinched Cullen's very firm ass.

He yelped and opened his eyes. "What was that for?" She nodded towards the table, and he rolled over. Fortunately he was covered, but not well enough to hide the flush that spread from his chest to his face. "Oh. Ah, good morning to you as well."

"Thank you, Cullen," said Aedan with a diplomat's deliberate smile. "Please carry on."

"Yes, don't mind us at all," added Leliana as she buttered a roll. "I'm anxious to see what made Cassandra so vocal last night. She's usually as quiet as a mouse."

Cassandra rubbed her forehead as Cullen stammered out an apology. Leliana waved it away with her pastry, and Cassandra's brain finally turned over. "How did this food get in here?"

Cullen groaned. "Maker's breath, a servant saw me," he said. He looked down at himself. "At least I was covered."

"Actually, Leliana intercepted the lovely Mary in the hall and brought it in herself," said Aedan, kissing the smiling bard on the cheek. "She's very generous that way. Though she, quite unfairly, made me stay in the hall."

"That's because you would have been entirely too interested in Cassandra's assets," said Leliana with mock severity. "But don't worry, Commander, your modesty was preserved from your servants. Just not from me. You certainly were _not_ covered." She wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth. "Congratulations, by the way. To you both."

Aedan laughed behind his fist, and if Cullen got any redder, Cassandra was sure he would explode. She reached for her robe and pulled it on quickly, intending to give Leliana a stern talking to in the hall, but before she managed to start her speech, Aedan had stood to lead her to her chair.

"Come, Lady Seeker. I'm sure you must be famished. You as well, Cullen," he called over his shoulder. "Eat breakfast with us like a proper satisfied lover. Else I will finally move on my plan to extract a morning kiss from both of these charming ladies instead of only the fiery one."

Cassandra stared at him like he'd grown a second nose, but Aedan didn't seem to notice. He stopped her from sitting, waiting patiently as Cullen stood and tied a sheet around his hips. He motioned the man over to her chair, then settled him in it and her on top of his lap.

She glanced at Cullen to make sure he was comfortable. He looked sheepish but content as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Leliana passed her a plate and stared at Cassandra until she hesitantly picked up a piece of fruit and held it to Cullen's lips. He opened them and took the offering with far too much heat in his eyes, and she wondered how she was supposed to get through breakfast like this.

"Don't worry, we're almost done," said Leliana, giggling. When Cullen tried to kick her he had to grab at both his shifting sheet and the woman perched on his lap, and Leliana only laughed harder. Soon all four of them were collapsed in mirth, greeting the day with smiles that chased away any remaining darkness.

* * *

In the end it was Cullen who left first, citing the morning briefing he had to be newly dressed for, if not bathed and shaved, but he dragged her to the door for his usual melting kiss. She lingered over it far too long, tugging on his shirt to keep him close every time he leaned away, and he'd worked one hand around her head and another around her waist by the time Leliana coughed loudly enough to penetrate their haze.

"See you later," said Cullen quietly, giving her a lopsided half-smile that did nothing to increase her self-control.

She kissed him once more, then released him reluctantly. He turned to open the door, and she smiled at him like an idiot until he vanished around the corner of the hall. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, one hand on the door frame with the other pressed to her swollen lips, before Leliana spoke beside her in a hushed tones. "You have to tell him, Cassandra. It isn't fair."

Her stomach clenched against the breakfast she'd just devoured. They were leaving in six days, probably never to return. How could she tell him something like that and hope to have another night with him, like this? Her hand tightened on the wood. "Not yet," she said. She begged the Maker under her breath. "Not yet."


	14. Brilliant Plans

"You're being very selfish."

Leliana's frequent, condemning words echoed in Cassandra's ears over the next days, all the more damning because they were so correct. Each repetition brought more shame, until she resolved that she would do her duty. Cullen would know that she was going, and they would part on whatever terms they could find. With Andraste's grace, perhaps they would even be good terms. Maybe Cullen would still let her feel loved, even as she let him down.

And she would turn into a nug and fly away.

Still, she wasn't a coward, and she did love this man in her sad, inadequate way. She wouldn't slink off and leave him to pain, even though the separation would lead him to a new love as surely as it had all the rest. It didn't matter. She would tell him the truth.

If only he wouldn't make it so difficult.

She couldn't tell him when he brought a bundle of small wildflowers to her room one muggy afternoon. Where he'd found them he never said, but he settled her on the bed and watched her weave them into her braid with tender eyes. While she worked the last strands, he kissed her neck and drifted his hands across her body in easy caresses, and when she was done he turned her to face him and pronounced her perfect. With tear-bright eyes he made love to her inside warm sunlight until her heart was too full for words.

She couldn't tell him when they were in Kirkwall, examining the progress of the new Chantry. The construction was going nicely, and several citizens were there to exclaim over the decorative columns and airy rooms. An older couple approached her, shyly, and asked her to perform their marriage ceremony as the Right Hand. They'd both lost their spouses in the war for the city, but they'd found new comfort in each other. Leliana usually performed the marriages, and her the death rites, but Cassandra couldn't turn their earnest faces away. She faced them in the half-completed assembly and said the words that would bind them together with as much gallant ceremony as she could summon. Cullen stood behind them as witness, stern and imposing in his armor. Or he would have been, if his gaze hadn't been so softly amused.

She couldn't tell him when they were in his office, sorting through stacks of ancient paperwork. The place was almost looking like a true Knight-Commander's seat instead of the annex of a library, and despite his protests that she shouldn't have to do his job, she saw the relief on his face at every disappearing pile.

She couldn't tell him when they were dining, and his hand brushed her own under the table. She couldn't tell him when she was curled up next to him in the night, skin still tingling from the pleasure he'd wrung from her willing body. She couldn't tell him when they were in the training yard, sparring and laughing while the sweat rolled down their backs. She couldn't tell him when he emerged from another meeting with Kirkwall's elite with a new set of lines around his mouth. She couldn't tell him when he grinned at her with a light in his eyes that was never there for anyone else.

As the days went on, she began to worry she couldn't tell him at all.

* * *

Two days before they were set to leave she came back from a final visit to Aveline and Varric, not that they knew that, to find an at-attention Templar waiting for her at the dock. She climbed out of the boat with newly sure feet, half-concerned and half-amused at the formality. "You don't need to salute me, Knight-Captain."

"The Knight-Commander ordered me to bring you to his office immediately upon your return, Lady Seeker." If not for the movement of his mouth, he might as well have been a statue.

Her heart stopped. "Did something happen with the mages? Is he injured?"

"No, Seeker."

Though she waited, he didn't elaborate, and she frowned as she followed him up the stairs and into the cramped spaces of the Gallows once more.

* * *

Cullen didn't smile when she entered the room, and Cassandra tried to remember if that had ever happened before. "That will be all, Captain," he said. His voice was the even, detached voice of a soldier, a tone she hadn't heard since that very first day they'd met. She shivered.

As soon as the door closed he stood and walked around the front of his desk and leaned on it as he eyed her. His fingers gripped the edge of the wood lightly, and she saw they were trembling in anger. "I spoke to Leliana while you were away. She asked me if I'd made arrangements for your departure. In two days." The weight of his gaze was like a blade on her throat. "She seemed shocked I didn't know of it."

 _Of course she_ seemed _shocked_ , thought Cassandra through her fear. She made a mental note to reprimand the interfering Left Hand, but right now Cullen's carefully blank face commanded all of her attention. "Cullen, I -"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The broken whisper cut through her cleanly, and she couldn't speak.

He swallowed heavily. "I knew you'd have to go, eventually. You have duties that aren't here, important ones. I'm not an idiot. Our relationship couldn't stay like this forever, no matter how much I was enjoying it. I knew the future would be messy," he said. His knuckles whitened where they held the desk. "But I was sure there would be one. You were so kind. I'd stopped thinking. I'd forgotten that you'd fought a dragon to save a village."

His eyes never left her face, and only long years of hiding her emotions kept her impassive. "Were you just going to leave?" he asked. "Go to Kirkwall one day and never come back? Have I been so overbearing that you thought that was the only way to be rid of me?"

"No," she said, startled.

She might as well not have spoken. "I thought it was your deliberate nature that kept you from declarations of, well, of love. I thought… Cassandra, why didn't you tell me you don't care for me?"

Her mouth dropped open as she understood the shape of his pain. Not rage but sadness. Hatred of himself instead of her. His hands trembling in grief instead of anger. "I do care for you," she said, confused.

"Of course you do, in the usual way. You're a good person," he said. "But not like - " Cullen broke off and shook his head. "I left you no choice but to go along. I pushed and demanded and confessed until you couldn't do anything else. We've only known each other a few weeks, but I've treated you like you were bound to me for life. I don't blame you for running."

Cassandra's heart broke at the defeat in his voice.

"I thought about just letting you go," he said softly. "I thought about it all morning. It would have been easier. But I couldn't. I can't. I know that I'm difficult to manage. I know I'm too serious. I know that I have things in my past that make me impossible to accept romantically. I understand that you have to distance yourself from me that way. But will you consider coming back? When you feel ready? Or even writing?" He finally looked at the floor. "I won't show you anything but friendship. I swear it on Andraste's name."

It was exactly the outcome she'd been wanting, but this was backwards and wrong. She was supposed to be the villain, not him. She _was_ the villain.

The persistent fog in her mind lifted at the thought, and it freed her to act. To speak. The unvarnished truth, that she'd came only with the intention of an affair, that she'd let him love her because she enjoyed the attention, that she'd waded in too deeply and was leaving because she was a coward and a seductress and left men in pain to pay back her own emptiness. That her vanity was the only thing she truly loved. A truth, and one that even she hadn't known until this moment.

She stepped towards him, opening her mouth, and his face grew panicked. "No! Stay back."

The memory of nightmares scored his face, and it comforted her to know that he must have some anger towards her, somewhere, to be so afraid he would hurt her. Not that she was afraid. Cullen was a better man than she deserved.

She kept walking until she was close enough to touch him. Her fingers grazed his cheek, and he flinched. "Cullen, you're more beautiful than you'll ever know."

"You don't have to say that," he said. "I'm not asking for that."

But she ignored him, instead studying his face. A strong jaw framing a mouth meant for smiling that smiled far too little. Eyes that saw the world clearly and himself not at all. Skin pale and unmarked, a sign of a man who took care of himself too well physically and not enough mentally. A brow that was creased, but not as lined as it could be for all that. They combined into a whole that was simply good, without ceasing, and she wondered what it would be to feel so effortless in her morality.

She would likely never know, and she took a deep breath to steady the shame of who she was. He'd seen her naked, but this would be true exposure, and the loss of his regard would be a deep, deserved pain. The office around them, with its still-present piles of paper, seemed to be waiting eagerly for her confession, an echoing memory of the mages who'd come before. Waiting for their own punishments when they'd failed in control.

And then her eyes widened as she saw a new way.

"I know I don't have to say it," she said, "but I must, if you insist on rushing along to the wrong conclusions."

His face twitched into a faint smile, and she traced it with her thumb. "I did not hide my plans from you out of malice, or to escape your feelings," she said. A truth, to begin with, was always safer. "I simply could not determine the way to ask you what I needed to."

"Which was?"

"To come with us."

A shocked silence fell between them as he reached up to take her hand in his own. "Come with you? To do what?" He laughed uncomfortably. "I'm not sure what I have to offer. I've never been anything but this. I lack most of the qualifications to be a Reverend Mother, and between you and Leliana the Divine hardly has need of another bodyguard."

Cassandra thought furiously. "No, of course not. But she has need of you. To command an army."

If anything he looked more confused. "I wasn't aware the Chantry had an army."

"It doesn't. But Justinia is considering the reformation of the Inquisition."

She'd thought Cullen couldn't get any more shocked, but his eyes were so wide that she wondered if they'd ever close again. "The _Inquisition_?" He rubbed his temple slowly. "Can we move to the couch? I'm not sure I can follow this standing up."

They did, and once there she told him as much as she dared about the Divine's future plans. It was a horrifying breach of security, but she trusted Cullen to remain discreet. More importantly, he would be left knowing she valued him, and believing that the parting had been unthinkable from her side instead of something planned.

Of course, he wouldn't be able to leave his responsibilities. He was integral to the city and carried the lives of his men with him. He would have to decline, reluctantly, and they would part with mutual regret. After a long enough separation, with the eager ladies of Kirkwall and her own lack of visibility to aid his forgetfulness, everything would go back to normal. For both of them. It was a move worthy of Leliana herself.

She tried hard not to remember how colorless her normal had been before him.

He asked only one question. "Is this why you've been so interested in Hawke? To fill this position?"

"Andraste's flames, no," she said, horrified. "Hawke has no military experience whatsoever. But we did hope she might be the Inquisitor. A largely symbolic role, but a figure to rally around. Justinia cannot take the title without raising too much alarm, and Leliana and I are both unsuited to inspiration."

Cullen frowned. "I think you would suit quite well."

She laughed to cover up her sudden flush. "The Seekers are not seen as neutral," she said. "Hawke is."

His frown didn't lift, but he turned away to take in the state of his office. After a minute, he stood and walked to the window, the one that showed the training yard and, in the distance, the city of Kirkwall clinging to the shore like a barnacle. She held her breath, waiting for him to realize he couldn't accept.

"I have many responsibilities here," he said slowly. He didn't look at her.

"I understand," she said. And despite her plan, despite the fact that this was exactly what she wanted, a small part of her was more disappointed than she'd ever been. She rose to leave, her face appropriately melancholy, when he turned around with a sigh.

"I don't think it will be possible for me to pass them on in two days," he said. "Not properly. I'll have to join you in a few weeks. Hopefully no more than two. Will that be acceptable to the Divine?"

Words deserted her, and she only nodded dumbly. Cullen strode to his desk and started rifling through the remaining papers, muttering to himself. "I'll need to speak to the Seneschal," he said under his breath.

A knock came at the door, and a messenger stuck his head in. "The Seneschal is here to see you, Commander."

"Convenient," he said with a quick smile at her before he went back to his organizing. "The Maker works in hidden ways. Give him the usual wait, please."

The door closed, and the sound finally shook her voice loose again. "You're coming with me?"

"Of course," he said absently. "I want to be where you are, as long as I can be useful in some way."

"But what about the Gallows? The city?" She knew she was protesting too much, but she couldn't move past his easy decision to abandon his life after so short an acquaintance. No matter how intense it had been.

Cullen finally stopped moving and looked at her. "They've had me for over ten years, and they've used me well. But I never intended to stay here so long. I just didn't have anywhere else to go. Until now," he said. He bit his lip. "Did you really think I'd care about this job more than you?"

She didn't know what to say, and he took her silence for confirmation. He stepped softly over the stone tiles and caught her in a strong hug. "Never. You're beyond important to me. I only wish you'd asked me earlier. I've been trying to find something for you to do here, something worthy of you, for days. I never thought you'd have something for me."

"Neither did I," she said honestly.

When he laughed and kissed her, she responded to the heat in it while her mind turned and her heart flew in a thousand directions. Terror. Joy. Anticipation. Disbelief. Eagerness. Lust. She hadn't known it was possible to feel so many emotions at the same time. He leaned back with a broad grin. "I hope there are no rules against fraternization in this Inquisition," he said. "Because I intend to be very familiar with one of its founders."

"Justinia will appreciate your attentions," she said vaguely. "She enjoys the flirtations of handsome men." She could think of nothing else to say. This plan would have worked for Leliana, somehow. And yet his arms around her felt like an extension of her own self.

Cullen glared at her, though it was marred by his persistent smile, and she gave in to the side of her that insisted on joy. When the hapless messenger walked in with the Seneschal, they found the city's Knight-Commander entangled with his visiting Seeker in such a way that neither of them would be fit to step foot inside a Chantry for weeks. The Seneschal in particular seemed unamused at their ardor as they unwound themselves.

She tried to apologize, but Cullen only gave her another searing, demanding kiss that set butterflies dancing within her. "Go tell Leliana," he whispered. "I'll come find you later." He nudged her towards the door and turned to the red-haired man who was still wearing a disapproving frown. "Senschal Bran. We need to talk."

* * *

Cassandra wandered into Leliana's room without knocking, and a distant part of her took delight in the way the bard rolled off of her royal lover with an annoyed squeal. By the remnants of their clothing, they weren't exactly in the middle of things, but they were well on their way. It served them both right.

Aedan gave her a casual wave and placed his hands behind his head while Leliana pulled on the nearest shirt to hand. It turned out to be the king's, and he smiled appreciatively at the sight even as Leliana glared at them both. "Cassandra! What in the Maker's holy name are you doing?"

"I've asked Cullen to be the Commander."

"He already is the Commander," said Aedan, puzzled.

Cassandra didn't enlighten him, but Leliana's glare fell away immediately. Her eyes gleamed. "You didn't," she said. Cassandra looked down in response, and Leliana clapped her hands. "You did! Did he accept?"

"He did," said Cassandra miserably.

Leliana's grin widened. "Wasn't that going to be your job?"

"It was."

"So I suppose now you'll just lay about, expecting all of us to do your work for you," said Leliana, shaking her head. "At least Cullen won't mind. Is he coming with us directly?"

A stone was settling deeper and deeper in the pit of Cassandra's stomach, crushing many of the butterflies that still danced against her will. "No. He'll be in Haven two weeks after us. Approximately."

"So soon! Well, at least we won't have to find a separate room for him," said Leliana.

Cassandra kicked a nearby chair. "This is unhelpful."

"I'm not trying to be helpful. I'm trying to gloat."

Aedan laughed. "That's my girl," he said. "But would someone like to clue me in on what's happening?"

"I can't," said Leliana cheerfully. "Cassandra may tell handsome, muscular men all of our Divine's secrets, but I'm less susceptible to your charms."

"Is that so?" asked Aedan. He sat up and wrapped his arms around the bard's waist, pulling her close His lips found her neck and kissed a slow trail to her ear. "I'm not sure you're aware of how charming I can be, when properly motivated."

"Aedan," said Leliana in a warning voice, but her eyes were closed, and Cassandra noticed wryly that she wasn't exactly fighting him away. "All you need to know is," she started, before breaking off with a hissing breath as Aedan's teeth pulled at her earlobe.

Cassandra glared. "I am right here, you know."

"I don't mind if you watch," said Aedan easily before going back to his business. "I'm a very good teacher."

Leliana sighed and leaned into him, reverting to his original question. "All you need to know is that Cassandra and Cullen will be together permanently, thanks to me."

"It will never be permanent! How long will his regard survive outside of these walls? I will never hold him, once he's seen all the world offers," said Cassandra, trying to keep her voice steady. She threw a nearby shirt at her friend, which she deftly caught even with her attention almost fully on the man running his hands over her. She hardly seemed to be listening, and Cassandra growled, "If not for your interference, none of this would be happening."

"I know. Aren't I amazing?" said Leliana. She smiled impishly, then giggled as Aedan murmured something in her ear.

Cassandra gave up and whirled back to the door with a grunt. Perhaps there would be people for her to hit in the courtyard.

"Do you want him there?" There was no more joviality in Leliana's voice.

"I don't know," she said, her hand on the knob.

"Justinia would say that the answer to a question of the heart is always known, even if the knowledge is not admitted."

She stared at a knot in the door's wood furiously and ignored her. That was one of the Divine's favorite expressions, and Cassandra had always hated it. She yanked the offending barricade out of the way quickly and stepped into the hall, trying not to answer in her mind even as Leliana called the question out again in her wake.

But of course she could. Justinia was right, and the knowledge was plain and strong in her heart. Cassandra wanted Cullen in Haven, so much that she was trembling with it. But the problem wasn't Haven. It was in the weeks before he arrived, when she would fade in his mind into nothing. It was that time when he would turn to another woman, and Cassandra would have to watch him love her instead.

* * *

It rained the day they left, and the rain turned to steam when it hit the heated summer stones. Cullen didn't seem to care about any of it. He stood on the dock as their trunks were loaded - he'd supervised every aspect of their departure - while Cassandra worried and tried to keep it from her face. It was odd how quickly their positions had reversed. She'd arrived full of confidence, as centered as she'd ever been, and he'd been so concerned for his future. What a difference a few weeks made.

Or a nosy bard. Leliana had declined to wait in the downpour and was patiently hiding in the nearby boathouse. Of course, the fact that Aedan had sneaked in as well, as only the best rogues could, surely had nothing to do with her desire for shelter. Aedan was staying behind with Cullen, both as a travel companion and to sell the fiction that he'd come to Kirkwall for anything but seeing the Divine's agent, and the couple had been practically glued together whenever they were alone.

Cassandra hoped whoever was sent to call them made a lot of noise before they opened the door.

She looked at the faces around her and saw she was much less popular than she'd been in her first flirtations with Cullen. The Knight-Captains looked happy enough at their pending promotions, but the lower-ranked Templars were scowling at her openly. _So much for improving Templar relations_ , she thought. As though he'd heard her, Cullen shot her a quick grin that she returned as best she could. She tried not to focus on how his wet shirt clung to his shoulders when he stooped to grab a box.

"How much did Leliana pack?" he grunted as he manhandled the box into the boat. A much larger boat than they'd come in.

"She believes in preparation," said Cassandra. "And shopping. I, too, leave with too much."

She gestured to the three trunks - one more than she'd come with, thanks to the clothing purchased in the city - and he laughed. "I think I can manage that." He turned and pulled her to him, as he'd been doing at sudden moments ever since the night before. "I'm going to miss you," he said roughly. "Who's going to make me smile when you're so far away?"

Cassandra thought of the tea-drinking women across the harbor, just waiting for her to flee. "I'm sure someone will present herself," she said. She smiled at his doubtful look, and he sighed as he touched the scar on her cheek. He gave her such a woeful look that even her pessimism couldn't keep her from comforting him.

"You'll be too busy to miss me," she said. "It is I who will be inconsolable."

They came together again, to the coughing amusement of half of their audience, and it took a firm "Ser!" to pry them away from each other. "The transport is ready," said the disapproving Templar.

"We should go," said Leliana beside her, and Cassandra jumped. She looked over Cullen's shoulder to see Aedan standing under an overhang, his careless, noble manner barely convincing, then took in Leliana's carefully happy face. She winced. Clearly the parting had been even more difficult for her than Cassandra had feared.

"Yes, it's time," said Cullen. He stepped back with effort. "Please travel safely. Both of you."

He was only looking at her.

Cassandra's heart clenched, wondering how much time she had before she faded away in his mind. Hopefully long enough to get him to Haven. She threw her arms around him, suddenly needing the solid, hard presence of him to carry with her, and he returned the hug with crushing strength.

"Two weeks is a long time," she whispered. _Please remember me._

"I know," he replied in the same hushed tones. "But I'll be there sooner than you expect. Don't worry, love."

The words stuck in her throat, but she hoped he understood from her final kiss that she loved him, too. Irrevocably and dangerously. No matter what happened.

* * *

After they boarded the ship that would carry them across the water to Ferelden, Cassandra shut herself in her cabin and opened her trunk to find her robe. Leliana would be there soon enough, and she would comfort her friend as best she could, but she needed to be dressed for her own comfort if she was to be of any use. As she shook out the fabric, a slip of paper fell to the floor, and she picked it up curiously. Her heart fluttered when she recognized Cullen's slanted, rushing script.

 _Cassandra,_

 _I'm not sure how soon you'll find this, but I pray it comes at a time when you need comfort. I considered stealing your robe, to keep a part of you with me while we're apart, but I'd never forgive myself if you caught a chill without it. I suppose the memory of how it looks on you will have to sustain me. Thank you for caring for me, for choosing me, and for being a woman far past anything I would have ever dared desire. I'm not in Varric's class, with the fine words, but I hope you can read this if you feel lonely and know that I am thinking of nothing but you._

 _All my love,_

 _Cullen_

When Leliana arrived, even her own pain didn't stop the bard from cooing over the letter until Cassandra wanted to strangle her. But she still tucked the note carefully under her pillow as soon as the examination was complete. Whenever she touched it throughout the night it soothed her worried mind, and Cassandra felt the first stirrings of hope as she drifted off to sleep.


	15. Sweet Sorrow

There were more notes.

Cullen must have used his time supervising their departure to tuck them inside her belongings, and every new glimpse of familiar writing set her heart ablaze. He'd been right about his raw writing skill, but the sincerity of every message was more than enough to make up for any lack of grace. Her favorites were those that ended with passages of the Chant that she knew so well. She could almost hear him repeating them to her, on the ship, on the road, or in the sensitive shell of her ear as she fell asleep.

It took great discipline not to tear her trunks apart looking for them all, but in a way it was nice to be surprised with each discovery, like finding another oasis across an endless desert. She wished she'd thought to do the same for him. She wrote him a letter and sent it behind her, full of the beats of her heart that he could no longer feel, but the likelihood of it making it back to Kirkwall before he left was low.

He'd even left her a physical gift, which she found pinned to her only dress a day out from Haven. When she showed it to Leliana, a small hair ornament in silver with delicate etchings over it, the bard smiled. "Cullen and Aedan must use the same merchants," she said, and pulled a similar item from her pack. She rubbed her thumb over it gently, and though her hood was up it didn't hide the sadness on her face.

"He will arrive soon," said Cassandra.

"He'll be the King," said Leliana, simply, and Cassandra reached out to grasp her free hand. Leliana shook her head quickly. "I'm being ridiculous. This is the bargain we struck, long ago, for Thedas. It does no good to regret it."

They sat in silence until Leliana forced a small laugh. "I'm surprised you're not telling me that what I'm doing is sinful. That the Maker doesn't appreciate His holy bonds being used as a tool for power and then watching them break."

Truthfully, Cassandra had thought it, but even she did not have so little tact. "I cannot tell you anything you don't already know, Leliana. You understand the Chants even better than I," she said.

"Justinia will say it when she finds out."

"She'll know nothing from me," said Cassandra. "It is not my place to confess your secrets." She paused, considering. "And Justinia may be more sympathetic than you think. She understands the expression of emotion more than most, and she would like Aedan very much. As do I."

"Thank you. It's nice to think so," said Leliana. She looked at the hairpin Cassandra still held and laughed more genuinely. "I'm very happy for you, Cassandra. You deserve a man whose face lights up so brightly when you're near. I wish you could see how he looks at you when you're looking the other way. It's breathtaking." She grinned. "And his ass really is quite impressive."

Cassandra scowled at her, but Leliana paid no mind, and eventually she had Cassandra recalling every inch of Cullen with great specificity before moving on to descriptions of Aedan's figure. The sun crawled out of the sky, and the Right and Left Hand of the Divine fell asleep under the stars. Their fingers were intertwined like children as they dreamed of the men they loved.

* * *

Haven was soothing torture when they arrived. The familiar was always welcome to her, and the presence of the Divine was comforting. Still Cassandra spent large portions of her day looking towards the distant gates and willing them to open and reveal a golden-haired warrior with the grin of a boy. She spent much of her time in the training yard, in direct sight of any visitors, and her other duties never distracted her completely no matter how vital they were. Cassandra was not one to plan social events, but this was more a war council, and only the importance of the security arrangements kept her focused at all. Even her prayers were interrupted with fear, impatience, and lust, and she despaired that her faith had fled her just when she needed it most.

She had other duties as well, as a holy emissary. Pilgrims came to Haven to seek the temple, and often they made the journey ill and frail. Not all of them made it through the harsh climate, and she presided over several death rites and ritual burnings. But even as the souls flew over the snow-tipped mountains, carried to the Maker by her words, her mind was consumed with only one man.

Fortunately she knew those rites well enough to perform them even distracted, but during a morning benediction she stumbled over the Chant, picturing the honey-brown of gentle eyes in every face in the congregation. She stopped, horrified, until Justinia gently raised her voice to begin the words again.

Cassandra continued where she led, cheeks flaming, and as soon as it was polite she left the assembly to hide against the wall behind the temple, wondering how she was ever to survive this. If she was such a mess even without him here, how would she behave with him next to her? Or worse, untouchable across the camp after he cast her aside? She was just like her mother, so far inside of another person that everything else was falling away.

Justinia found her there, shaking and lost, and to Cassandra's mild surprise the Divine tugged her down and sat on the grass, so they were both leaning back into a shadow. They sat for several minutes in silence, until Cassandra said, "Most Holy, surely you have other duties."

"I do," she said. "But there are no duties so important as the care of one's children."

"I appreciate the honor, truly, but I am fine."

Justinia hummed, which turned into a snatch of holy song. "You've been much distracted, recently."

"I apologize. I will do better," said Cassandra.

"You have already given me more than your best," said Justinia. She paused, and a less holy woman might have seemed hesitant. "Your Commander is due to arrive any day now, yes?"

Cassandra flushed and looked at her feet. "He will be your Commander."

"But for now, he is yours, is he not?" Her eyes were knowing, and Cassandra didn't pretend not to understand.

"Yes. For now," said Cassandra quietly.

Justinia nodded, as though something had finally made sense. "Leliana tells me that he required little persuasion to accept the post you offered, even though the post does not yet exist. To leave a comfortable situation for uncertainty takes great dedication. To a cause, or to a person."

"He is very devout," said Cassandra. Justinia smiled, and Cassandra felt the weight of her comforting nature strike her like a sword. She had no shield to block it, and the truth spilled out unbidden. "Dedication fades, and I am easily forgotten."

"Cassandra, that is one thing you will never be," said the Divine firmly. "You have a gift, the gift of Andraste, to inspire loyalty in your followers."

She stared at the older woman, baffled. "I have no followers."

Justinia laughed. "The seal of my position prevents me from recounting the number of petitioners who have requested merely to sit in your presence. It's fortunate I'm not the jealous sort." She sobered. "And your nature is fortunate in other ways. It has brought Ser Rutherford to our cause, taking on a role that might have wasted your talents. While Marian Hawke may have been correct politically, I believe you are the one most suited to lead what may need to be."

"No," said Cassandra, shaking her head. "You cannot give me so much." She'd barely made it through a benediction unscathed. She would be hopeless at leading a cause.

"I can. But not yet. The Maker may reveal other paths. Nevertheless, were He to let me choose, you would be my choice. I only refrained from telling you before you left because I sensed you needed to journey to Kirkwall," said Justinia. She smiled conspiratorially, and the years fell way from her face. "At least, that's what the Divine is supposed to say when an action turns into more than she could have ever hoped."

Cassandra mumbled thanks, and Justinia laughed a little too much like Leliana for comfort.

Justinia looked off into the distance. "I am anxious to meet this man. I've heard much of him that surprises me, and Leliana tells me yet more that startles. Yes, he will be an interesting visitor," she said. "And I've been told he's very handsome."

The faint questioning tone had Cassandra blushing again. "Yes, many say so." She frowned and pulled out a tuft of grass to scatter in the wind. "But he is not here yet."

"Not yet," said Justinia, rising slowly to her feet. "But take care when he is to leave yourself open, my child. It would please an old woman to see you find the peace of the heart alongside the peace of the Maker."

* * *

On the third day after the group from Kirkwall had been due, Cassandra gave up even the thin pretense of indifference and went to pace in front of the gates. She made the half-mile loop from the guard post to the nearest peak and back again until Leliana came out to reprimand her for making everyone nervous.

Cassandra ignored it. "Where are they?" She touched the silver hairpin that she'd woven into her hair every morning since she'd found it to reassure herself of its presence. Leliana stared at her bemusedly, and Cassandra snarled. "How can you be so calm?"

"The Maker gives me strength."

The laughter in her voice betrayed her. Cassandra whirled around and demanded, "What do you know, Left Hand?"

"A great many things, Right Hand." But she must have seen something in Cassandra's face, because she added, "Including the fact that a large group of travelers in Templar armor is nearing Haven."

"A large group? There should only be two of them." Maybe a handful more, if they'd brought squires, but certainly nothing too large.

Leliana shrugged, and Cassandra made her circuit once more, this time searching for a caravan instead of lone riders. With her new focus, she spotted it easily. "I see them!" she called down, not bothering to conceal the excitement in her voice. Leliana covered her mouth with her hand, but Cassandra chose to ignore it. She watched the group for a time, willing them closer, before scrambling down to pace once more.

What was taking them so long?

She was considering running to the stables to saddle her horse when the group finally rounded the last bend and the horns sounded for unknown visitors. The protocol was for all non-guards to retreat inside the gate until the strangers had been inspected, but the guards wisely didn't even broach the issue with her. She would have defeated them in no uncertain terms, because Cullen was there.

He sat straight and tall on his charger, a beautiful horse she hadn't even known he owned, with his armor gleaming like a prince of legend. He was so handsome. Had he always been that handsome? His blond hair caught in the constant swirling winds of the mountain, dancing above him temptingly, and she couldn't wait until he was in her arms so she could smooth it back to order with her fingers. Would the Divine understand if she delayed his introduction for an hour? More importantly, would she be able to limit herself to just an hour?

Cassandra tried to rein herself in, to slow her galloping heart and rising need, by glancing at the group around him. She made a poor study of it, managing only a few quick observations before her eyes went back to the man who led them. Still, what observations she did make were confusing. A group of Templars, potentially explainable, but also civilians, including someone on a small pony that almost looked like Varric Tethras. Which was ridiculous. But she would sort all of that out later.

Only when Cullen drew close enough for her to make out his features did her heart stop. He looked cold, not from the wind, but from something inside. There was no warm light of greeting, no grin on his lips, and no hint that he knew her at all.

 _It's propriety_ , she thought desperately, even though he hadn't been concerned with that in some time. Her eyes slid away in terror and lit on the figure next to him, hooded and small. She'd dismissed it as another mystery to be explained later, but they were close enough now she could see the face beneath the hood. Cassandra's hand went to the silver pin once more, this time in shock. The figure was a woman, her face beautiful ice, with piercing blue eyes full of intelligence, wariness, and danger. The kind of woman that a man would never be able to resist, and she was currently studying Cassandra with far too much interest.

Cassandra's gaze went back to Cullen's blank face, and she knew what had happened.

Leliana stepped forward to offer greetings, glancing only once at her frozen friend. The party swung off of their horses easily, and Cullen hung back as Aedan bowed over Leliana's hand with precise manners and made the pretty speeches that one made in such situations. The beautiful woman faded back into the group, and Cassandra wondered if she was tending to Cullen's mount, like a true lover would.

When Aedan turned to her to make a shorter greeting, she pushed all of the pain and loss deep inside herself with a harsh determination. There would be time for mourning later. She wasn't fifteen anymore, and she did not make such displays in public. She wouldn't shame Cullen for the inevitability of his choice, no matter how much sympathy lived in the King's eyes.

Lay sisters and brothers joined them and sorted out the logistics of quarters for the men and the horses while she waited silently, looking anywhere but at Cullen and seeing nothing. Eventually she realized people were leaving, and she made to follow them back into the gates when a hand touched her arm. She knew those fingers, far too well, and that more than anything almost broke her.

"May I speak with you, Seeker?" Still no smile, and still no warmth, and this time his voice held nothing at all. Not even the tones of a soldier, but the tones of a stranger.

"Who is she?" she asked quietly, finally looking at him. She wondered if her face showed the wound that was slowly bleeding out inside of her.

He narrowed his eyes, once, then shook his head. "Not here," he said. "Is there somewhere private?"

She led him to a nearby storage shed, disorganized and little used. As she closed the door behind them, she took a deep breath before turning around with a heart that was ready to shatter.

* * *

He spoke without preamble, as though they'd picked up a conversation they'd been halfway through.

"On the boat here, there was another group of travelers. Merchants, mostly, from all over, who'd banded together in the Free Marches but were moving on to Orlais. They were wary of a group of Templars, probably afraid we were escorting mages, but Varric could get a hurok to tell his life story, so we eventually fell into conversation."

So it really had been Varric, the mechanical part of her mind noted. She filed that away for another time, when she wasn't holding herself together with both hands.

"Of course, I say we, but I wasn't much of a conversationalist. I was distracted by my thoughts, and writing letters that I knew wouldn't be sent when I wasn't caught up in them," he said. His eyes were steady, but they flashed a strong emotion that she couldn't identify. "They asked if I was writing to my sweetheart back home. I said I was going to meet her, and Varric told them about you. Not your name, or your position - I'd warned him to stay silent in case there was need for secrecy - but one of the things he did say was that you were Nevarran.

"One of the men chimed in with his own story about a Nevarran woman he'd once loved. A beautiful woman, tall and dark, with skin like cream and a voice that shivered over a man's bones."

Cassandra raised a hand to her mouth, briefly, but she didn't make a sound. Cullen's face never changed.

"His name was Mason, originally from Rivain, and he'd met her when she traveled to his village on undisclosed Seeker business. She'd stayed for a month and spent nearly every night with him. He loved her more than the world, he said, and he'd gone so far as to buy a betrothal gift when she vanished one day without a trace, save one - a note of thanks that wished him happiness and peace."

She looked at him as he spoke with growing distress, begging him to stop, but the words were like rocks sliding down a hill, scrabbling and inexorable, and she knew there was no escape. She remembered this man, a short, barrel-chested Rivaini who'd played a mandolin and sang to the tavern until it closed. She'd liked the way his copper eyes had touched her face with gentle curiosity. She'd liked even more the way he flirted with every woman in the room without discretion. She'd never imagined him to be serious.

Cullen's voice came on, bringing the avalanche. "Her name was Cassandra, he said. No last name given, no matter how often he asked. The man told us he'd considered all sorts of things, running after her, attacking Templars until the Seekers came to find him, even throwing the gift he'd purchased in the river to spite her. In the end he sold it instead, unable to part with the money. He got a better price than he'd given, and his new profession was born.

"Another man, one who'd just joined their merchant caravan, spoke up with a similar story. This time it came from the Anderfels, where he'/d met her while he worked for the Grey Wardens at Weisshaupt. She'd come to train alongside them for a time. To spy, the other man thought, but she never confirmed it. Cassandra Pentaghast, he said, and she carried herself like royalty even while she deigned to let a servant court her in his humble way. She left him heartbroken, wondering if he'd been a different man that she might have stayed."

His mask broke for the first time, an angry hopelessness that made her weak, before he regained control. "They wished me all luck that my lady would be more constant than theirs, and I thanked them. We parted at the dock, and I will likely never see them again."

Silence fell, and it wasn't the silence of waiting but the silence of death. Of things that would never speak again. Cassandra wondered if the death had been her soul. "I don't know what you wish me to say," she said quietly.

"Tell me it's untrue, and I'll believe you," he said, but his voice was dull and hollow. He was lying. Not a lie of deception, but a lie of aspiration. He wanted the world to be that way, but even if she told him what he wanted to hear he would only hear it in his ears. Not in his heart.

"It is not untrue. I remember them both," she said. She sighed. "I remember them all."

He didn't ask how many, and for that she was grateful. He only closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, like a man fighting back the pain of a broken limb. "Did you ever intend for me to join you here?"

"No."

"Would you have even left me a note?"

"No." The truth was supposed to be freeing, but she felt chains settling around her with every answer.

The lines were back on his face, deep furrows that traced every slice in his heart until it was nothing but a map of her own treachery. His voice cracked on the next word he spoke, and he cleared his throat. It sounded like a death rattle in the dusty shed. "Do you love me?"

And what could she say to that? That she loved him so much that being apart from him had been like walking around half-blind, half-alive? That her heart had left her body, sometime in those days in Kirkwall, and the loss of him wouldn't break her heart but steal it, forever, and leave her empty? That she'd fallen in love with him while he'd fallen in love with a woman she wasn't, and that what he'd thought were his dreams were only wishes she'd stolen for her own use?

No. He didn't deserve the dishonor of her love. Not when he knew what she truly was.

But she couldn't lie, not about this, and so she said nothing at all.

He opened his eyes when she stepped towards him, tugging the pin he'd given her from the crown of her hair. He stared at it in her palm like it was a weapon. Perhaps it was. "I have no right to this," she said. Her eyes were dry. A woman with no heart had no means for tears.

Cullen's face twisted in fury, and he grabbed it out of her hand with a violence that startled her. He gripped it tightly for a moment, as though he could crush it in his palm, before flinging it off into a dark corner to clatter away, out of sight.

"Even Hawke was never cruel enough to let me believe I could touch her heart," he said, as out of control as she'd ever heard him. She tensed, waiting to see if he would strike her. She wondered, vaguely, if she would try to stop him.

Instead the storm passed as quickly as it had come, and he found indifference once more. "I should meet the Divine," he said, looking past her to the door. His hand dripped blood, where the pin had pierced his flesh, but though it hurt her to watch the red drops forming in his fist she couldn't bring herself to mention it.

"Will you still accept the position?" It was a foolish question to ask when he was still so angry, but it was the only one she could think to ask.

"I gave my word. To Her Holiness, to my men. To you," he said, with a hint of a snarl. "I don't fail in my promises."

"I'm glad you'll be staying," she said. She lied. She told the truth. She didn't know what she did, anymore.

He shrugged and slid past her to open the door. When his arm brushed hers she bit her lip, frozen in agony. But he barely noticed, swinging out into the summer snow of the Frostbacks without another word. The ice-carved woman stood in the shadowed eaves across from them, staring with the same intense interest she'd shown before, but this time directed at Cullen.

"Who is she?" asked Cassandra again before she could stop herself.

Cullen didn't turn around. "That's Marian Hawke. I'd thought you might like to meet her."


	16. Old Friends

Cassandra turned away from the staring Hawke, who seemed content to let them leave. There was no time to ask Cullen how he'd known where to find her before they reached the Divine's audience room in the Chantry, which was just as well because she had no idea how to ask him. Any accusation would burn him, and any evasion would enrage her. The fact that all she wanted to do was push him into every corner they passed and kiss him until he forgot everything he knew didn't help matters.

Justinia was alone and seemed surprised to see them, but she rose gracefully and held out her hands in the standard blessing. Cullen took one knee and stared down, the posture of a man come before a Reverend Mother for confession rather than introduction. The Divine paused infinitesimally before saying, "Welcome, my son," and touching the golden waves of his hair.

"I'm not worthy of such an honor," he said to her shoes.

"Nonsense," she said sharply. "All those in my service are as my children. The Maker has blessed me in this way beyond measure, but I will always accept the blessing of more."

"As you desire, Most Holy."

"Justinia, please," she said. "Now, rise. It makes my bones ache to see petitioners kneel, no matter how young and fit they are. I sometimes suspect my Hands take up that position simply to annoy me."

Cullen stood without looking at Cassandra, and she couldn't have summoned a smile for all the gold in Thedas. Justinia's eyes narrowed, and she added, "I did not expect you here for some time. I hope you didn't shorten your reunion on my account."

Times like these were a glowing reminder that Justinia had mentored Leliana, and Cassandra had never regretted it more. Cullen seemed unaffected. "I prefer to begin the work, Mos- Justinia. And to arrive to the point of conversations quickly," he said. "Begging your pardon."

"A man after my own heart," said Justinia. Cassandra bowed and turned to leave, but the Divine stopped her. "I would prefer you stay. This will be a conversation that you need to hear, my daughter."

Cassandra winced. That was never a good sign, and given the roiling currents of her heart it would be even more disastrous than usual. But there was no way to refuse. Hands always obeyed.

They moved to the small table in the corner, used for casual meetings, and Justinia poured them all tea whether they wanted it or not. "Ser Rutherford. Please tell me what you offer the Chantry."

He sipped slowly and studied her. "To the Chantry I offer only my soul. To the Divine I offer my service and experience as a leader of armed forces, to whatever purpose they might be suited."

Justinia smiled.

"I also offer the services of twenty Templars and a few dozen civilians from Kirkwall who wish to serve your holy cause. They are unaware of the full nature of it, but they are all devout," he said. He paused. "And I offer Marian Hawke, who has sworn herself to my personal service."

Cassandra's cup rattled in her saucer as she dropped it from numb fingers, and some of the liquid sloshed over the side. Cullen's eyes flicked to her, inscrutably, and she wondered what he saw there. Her own mind was conjuring images of how that beautiful, formidable woman might serve him, and they were very, very personal services indeed. Would he enjoy having her back in his bed? Nothing would prevent it, now. Perhaps Hawke had finally understood the value of the man who'd longed for her so faithfully all those years ago.

Justinia's reaction was less noisy but no less surprised. "I'm led to understand that Marian Hawke would not be found."

"I was persuasive."

Cassandra's spirits sank a little more.

"I see. Well, I will enjoy meeting her as well. This is quite a bit you offer me, Ser Rutherford, and I'm pleased to accept your service and your fealty," said Justinia. She steepled her fingers lightly. "However, you realize that the position Cassandra discussed with you is a position in potential only? If I perform my duties as I should, it may not be necessary."

Cullen nodded. "Yes. I understood that when the Right Hand offered me the job. But she is persuasive as well," he said evenly, and Cassandra flushed. "Also, even if your peace is brokered, which I pray for nightly, you must have already gathered to you a group of loyal Templars who will need to be guided onto the healing path. The Seekers are useless for this. Their only tactic is to beat a horse after it has already gone astray, not point it where they would like it to travel."

The assertion wasn't wrong, by recent history, and yet to hear him speak so contemptuously of a piece of her was a shock greater than any he'd given her so far. The words sounded like a long-held belief, and so she must have always been part of something terrible to him. She stared at her hands and burned with greater shame.

"And you believe you can guide them correctly?" asked Justinia, shaking Cassandra out of her stupor. "At Kinloch you petitioned for the extermination of an entire Circle."

To Cassandra's surprise, Cullen's back remained straight and his expression never wavered. "I did. I had been tortured for days, and I was not in my right mind. I desired retribution instead of justice, and saw all mages through the same lens of blood. This is no excuse for my actions, but it's also a period long in the past for me. Kirkwall showed me the cost of such unyielding anger. I've put it behind me, and can teach others to do the same. Under your guidance, of course."

"Very well."

And finally Cullen looked uncertain, as though the conversation had moved in a direction he hadn't planned on. "So easily?"

"My Right Hand trusts you implicitly, which is a blessing not easily bestowed, and my Left Hand distrusts you only slightly, which is even harder to win," she said. "Should I doubt my closest advisors? I see many uses for you in my organization, regardless of what shape it takes."

Cullen said, with effort, "Seeker Pentaghast's trust may no longer be so absolute."

"I trust Cullen," she said quietly, her first words in the silent room. She stared at Justinia, who looked like an elderly noblewoman with her teacup and dainty manners. "If he says a thing is true, there can be no doubting him."

"Nevertheless," Cullen said quickly, a tinge of red in his cheeks, "you don't strike me as a woman who allows her opinions to be formed by others. No matter how valued their counsel. I worry that I will not have your complete confidence, as I need."

Justinia set her cup down and smiled. "Very perceptive. And you're correct, though you overlook the possibility that I may know more about you than you are aware," she said. Cullen furrowed his brow, and she said with deceptive mildness, "For example, I know what you have turned the Circle at Kirkwall into."

He cut a suspicious look at Cassandra, who returned it blankly and honestly. He seemed to sense the truth of her confusion and looked at his hands. "Leliana."

"Leliana," said the Divine easily. "You are fortunate Cassandra has a deep-seated unease of mages. If she had learned, she would have confronted you directly long ago."

Cullen smiled slightly, a mere quirk of his mouth, and there was a hint of sadness in it. "Yes, she would have."

"May I please understand this conversation?" asked Cassandra with far more than a hint of annoyance.

Cullen shifted and looked away. "The Kirkwall Circle holds some mages and Tranquil, as I said. But that's not all who are housed in its wing. Refugees and asylum-seekers, mostly slaves from Tevinter trying to escape their masters, live and rest there before flowing out into the rest of Thedas or staying to work in the garrison." He gripped his cup tightly. "The mages who arrive and do not wish to remain are also set free. To the Marches, or to Ferelden."

"You release mages into Thedas? Outside of the Circles?" she asked. She'd begun to frown, wondering why he would be so ashamed that he was helping the desperate, but now she was furious. "They will kill people!"

"We keep track of them," he said defensively. "All of them. Only one has ever killed anyone, and it was a woman who was being robbed at swordpoint. She killed the man with her own magic, not by using blood, and she returned to Kirkwall immediately, and voluntarily, to face me. We housed her, counseled her, and released her when she felt ready. The rest are all living happily, if not always comfortably. And when we've needed their skills, for healing or any other magical working, they've always responded."

"What would Aedan Cousland say if he knew you were sending unchecked weapons into his lands?"

"He knows all about it. It was partially his idea. He contacted me after the events in Kirkwall to ask what might be done. This was it," said Cullen.

"That's madness," she said. "It's only a matter of time."

"It's only a matter of time for any of us, Seeker. We all carry danger. We all carry the capacity to hurt," he said. "When trust is extended, civility is often the response. And it's better than the alternative."

Cassandra pressed her lips together and stared at the table, feeling the old helplessness once more. It was better for the mages. It wasn't better for their victims, and it wasn't better for the hidden victims, the people who were left behind. She jumped when he touched her hand, light as a feather, and she wasn't prepared for the buried softness in his expression when she looked at him.

"Anthony should have lived," he said. "He never should have left Thedas that way. But he didn't die because we need more Circles. It may have been just the opposite."

Justinia said mildly, "You realize that is heresy. In front of the Maker's emissary in this world."

He took his hand away and leaned back. "There is nothing in the Chant about Templar garrisons, Most Holy. Believe me, I've looked extensively," he said. "The Maker's will be done."

Cassandra was still staring at him in confusion, but it seemed he was done speaking to her. Done even acknowledging her.

The Divine was also done, and she clapped her hands lightly. "And it shall always be. So, the future. For now, we proceed as though the future can be any shape. Ser Rutherford, you will train any fighters in the area in tactics against non-mage opponents, as a training exercise, and also get to know the other troops in the area. Cassandra, since you will no longer need to prepare to be Commander -"

Cullen made a surprised noise in his throat, and she looked away quickly.

"You will now be responsible for evaluating the fitness of Marian Hawke as a leader."

Her eyes widened in horror. "Justinia, I can't." _Don't make me say why,_ she pleaded silently.

"You must. Do your best," she said. She stood, and they followed her. "Please show Ser Rutherford to his room."

Cassandra's insides twisted once more, entirely aware that he had no room. Or, more accurately, his room was her own. But she kept her face impassive as she said, "Of course, Most Holy. At once."

* * *

Fortunately she ran into Leliana in the middle of giving a tour to the Fereldan king, and she pawned Cullen off on them easily. Leliana gave her a strange look as Cassandra begged to be excused, but she didn't protest. She linked her arms in both of theirs in a flirtatious, very un-holy type of way, and sauntered off to show them the Chantry's collection of paintings.

Cassandra wasted no time in sprinting to her room and throwing everything of personal import into the empty chests in the corner. She couldn't move them, but she stacked and arranged them in such a way that they looked like long term storage. She kept out some of her own clothing and other effects to take with her in a satchel, which she hid in a small closet near the Chantry doors. By the time she was done, Leliana had finished her tour and walked back into entryway with a series of flourishes that the men were applauding with two different levels of enthusiasm.

She couldn't help but notice how Cullen's eyes strayed to the silver pin in Leliana's red hair, and how his hands clenched into fists that turned his knuckles white. Aedan touched his shoulder gently and whispered something with a smile, and Cullen didn't laugh but he did relax. Cassandra wondered what the King had said that was so calming.

"We'll show you to your rooms," said Leliana. "Your Majesty?" She called over her shoulder as they left, "Cassandra will take you, Cullen."

Their things had been brought to the entrance, and Cullen picked up his bags without much effort. He had even fewer personal effects than she did. Cassandra realized with an ache that he must have left quite a bit behind him.

Aedan was being quartered outside of the holy building, in the village, but Cassandra led Cullen down the side hall that only held a handful of rooms. Justinia's. Leliana's. A place for the two maids who served them exclusively. And her own.

But now it was his. She opened the door to the bare, clean room that was waiting for him. "These will be your quarters while we remain in Haven. The Temple of Sacred Ashes does not allow for extended guests, but they have given us what we need here."

Cullen looked around with wide eyes as he stepped inside. "These are far nicer than I would have expected in a Chantry," he said. "They're probably nicer than my quarters in the Gallows. It was a prison, after all."

She frowned, realizing she'd never actually seen his rooms there, but she couldn't argue that these were nice. Whenever Justinia made residence somewhere, their hosts always seemed to find extra decorations tucked in the corners. Cassandra had cleared most of hers out, leaving the room bare and functional, but what was there was high-quality. "I hope they'll be satisfactory," she said.

"Yes. I'm sure they'll be fine," he said, setting his items down on the floor by the small table. He stopped short, then turned to stare at her. "But -"

She waited for him to continue, but he only shook his head and gave her a puzzled look. "They'll be fine." He touched the smooth wood of the side table lightly with his fingers, and she had to look away as her body responded. Her heart may be lost and her soul dead, but there were parts of her that were very much alive and remembered him vividly. Her gaze fell on the bed, the place where she'd slept and dreamed about the way she would welcome him to Haven. Where she'd allowed herself to believe they could be happy, together. It seemed Hawke would have that joy now.

But when she looked back at him her breath caught in her throat. From the way he was staring at her mouth, he remembered her vividly, too. His lips parted slightly, and her breathing grew shallower the longer the silence stretched between them. Her clothing felt too tight, and she resisted the urge to tug at it with all of her willpower. "The bed should be comfortable," she said, inanely, then wanted to slap herself.

"It looks like it," said Cullen in a low voice, a rumble that she knew all too well. Or she thought she did. It was foolish to think he might still want her, but she supposed she did have the same body as the woman he'd thought she was, and even without love he might still be aroused by it. And they were both adults, free to spend time with whomever they chose. But to her surprise, though she wanted to step closer, to slide her hands up his chest as he tasted her again, she also wanted nothing at all to do with it. Sex without emotion would be empty and wrong, with him, and would only make her want all the things she could never have again.

"Why did you hide your aid to the refugees from me?" she asked in the silence. "It was an honorable business. A worthy one."

"Thank you," he said quietly. "But the Seekers would never approve of it. Any of it, not just the mages. They, and the Templars, have lost their way, and Kirkwall suffered for it. I didn't want to put you in an awkward position." His eyes were heavy on her face. "And once you told me about your brother, I thought it might hurt you to know. No matter how good my intentions. You have reasons to distrust mages."

"No more than you," she answered without thinking, and he shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Will they be safe while you're here?"

"Yes. The men I left in charge were aware of the scope of what we do. And they'll report to me, unofficially, so that I can keep an eye on them," he said. He paused. "I appreciate your concern on their behalf. They've lived hard lives."

She frowned at the slight worry in his voice, and she said, "My allegiance is to Justinia, not the Seekers. She approved of you and your work. I am not certain I approve of all of it, but I understand your reasons. No one will know anything from me."

Cullen shifted his weight slightly. "Thank you."

He didn't ask her to leave, and she didn't want to go. She cast about for another topic as he ruffled his hair. "Hawke is very little like I pictured, except for her beauty. How did you find her?"

"I didn't," he said. "Varric did. I knew he would know where to look, if motivated."

"Did you hurt him?" Not that she would object. If it was mild, anyway.

Cullen shook his head. "No. Just verbal persuasion," he said. His face darkened, and any hint of desire or friendship faded. "I told him it was for you."

And it would always be like this, for them, now. Shifting over water that never stilled, each wave bringing a new emotion. She'd learned to navigate boats, but this kaleidoscope of feelings was beyond anything she could handle. She wet her lips uncertainly, searching for an answer that wasn't there.

"I'd like to unpack now," he said suddenly.

"Of course," she said, whirling around with battle speed. "Leliana will find you for dinner."

She slammed the door behind her in fear, and she practically ran through the halls until she got to her stored satchel. A trip to the Templar encampment and she had a tent, which she pitched around the back of the Chantry. She nestled between its hard stone and the wall, where no one would find her unless they knew where to look. Only she ever walked this place.

Cassandra crawled inside her new home and spread her requisitioned bedroll across the grass. As soon as her heart slowed to a normal rhythm, she gingerly removed a bundle of papers from her sack and untied them with trembling fingers. Until the bell rang for the evening meal, she read through that slanted, familiar handwriting and tried to remember what the cloak of his love had felt like around her.

The feeling was almost gone, and she placed the bundle under her pillow with a sigh. When she exited the tent and brushed herself off, she felt as light and insubstantial as a leaf on the wind.

* * *

Leliana cornered her when she tried to sneak her food out of the crowed local tavern without being seen. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she muttered, trying to step around the bard. For a woman so small, she seemed to take up a disproportionate amount of space.

The red-haired woman snorted. "You haven't even kissed Cullen yet, not that I've seen, and when I went to your room to get you both, only he was there. And all of your things are gone! What do you think you're doing? The man's on fire for you and you're acting like he has the Blight."

Cassandra looked around instinctively, but fortunately Cullen was as far from her as he could be. Likely by design, considering his dining companions. Varric was telling some expansive story, and Cullen was pressed so close to a laughing Hawke that there was no doubt of their intimacy. "He knows," she said. Her hand tightened on the bowl she held.

"What, that you're being rude? I think we all know."

"No," she hissed. "About my past. My… affairs. That I take from men without giving, steal their hearts to leave them empty. He learned how little he knew me. We are now simply colleagues."

"You're ridiculous," said Leliana. "Firstly, you're not anything like that, no matter if you've left a few men pining, and second, do you think he cares as long as you care for him? He cares about your present. And your future. He loves you, as he told me at great length whenever you were away. And you love him. Did you tell him you love him?"

Cassandra glared in reply, and Leliana's exasperation was obvious. "You idiot. Tell him. Right now. You love each other. That's all that matters."

"It is _not_ all that matters. There is trust. There is understanding. There is partnership. There is -" She broke off and looked away. "It's better this way. I have responsibilities. I cannot afford distractions. And he will be happy with Hawke."

"Hawke?" asked Leliana incredulously, twisting around to find the fellow rogue in the crowd. Cassandra took the opportunity to slide past her and find a hidden space nearby, where she ate her meal in lonely silence.

* * *

After a long night of sleepless thinking, she greeted the morning with new clarity. She'd read many love stories in her time, and in all of them there were the women and men who were the distractions from the true pairing. Cullen and Hawke were that pair, a loving reunion found at last, and she had been the distraction. Knowing her proper role helped give her purpose once more, but there were still matters of the soul to be settled.

With luck she would solve them in their morning devotion with the Divine, where she could ask forgiveness of the Maker for her sins and failings, and joy for Cullen with true sincerity. She needed to find her center again, the Cassandra that might not be loved but was solid and sure. She didn't need a heart to serve.

But the prayers quickly turned into warfare, and she found no peace in them.

"Maker, help those who are blind to see the path in front of them and follow it in faith," said Leliana.

"And aid those who would seek to impose their will upon others to seek peace within themselves, first. Help us to remember that all people are free," said Cassandra.

"Save the fools from their folly, and lead them back into the light of Your presence."

"Let the only interferences in our lives be Yours."

Leliana's eyes flew open, and she glared across the low prayer bench. "Give the rest of us patience when our friends act as witless idiots."

Cassandra's voice dropped into her iciest tones. "Teach us how to accept the high-handed arrogance and judgment of our colleagues with equanimity."

"Enough," said Justinia in a quiet voice that cut between them like a blade. "Daughters, the sanctity of the Maker's presence is not the place to air personal grievances."

They both mumbled apologies and stood to leave with bowed heads. Justinia held up her hand. "This morning cannot be used for prayers, but I will not have you leave this room in such anger. Tell me what is causing your disharmony."

Leliana, unsurprisingly, spoke first. "Cassandra is breaking Cullen Rutherford's heart because she's afraid to show love to anyone beyond the physical."

"Leliana!" said Cassandra, flushing.

She looked at the Divine, who smiled kindly. "There's nothing wrong with any expression of love, my dear. The Maker blessed us with bodies, and unless we have sworn ours to Him in the footsteps of Andraste, there can be no sin." Her smile fell away. "But it should not be out of balance. Physical love alone is as dangerous as romantic love alone, or only the love of friends. All loves are important to a steady path."

"I understand, Divine, but Leliana exaggerates. His heart is not broken. He believed stronger feelings than he possessed, only because Leliana manipulated us both into a relationship that was more sham than truth to serve her own sense of power. But he has already begun the process of healing. Not all loves are meant to last," said Cassandra. There was a light pang deep within her, but she knew she spoke the truth.

"I did not manipulate you!" said Leliana heatedly. "I helped you both reach a conclusion you were already destined to find. If you wouldn't keep running from it, anyway."

"When the path is ended, there is no difference between intentions," said Cassandra.

Leliana turned to Justinia with pleading eyes. "It's sinful for her to waste someone's love like this. The Maker's gifts should not be so easily cast aside. Not everyone is afforded the opportunity to love so well."

The Divine frowned. "I do not believe that would qualify as a sin, Leliana. A poor decision, perhaps, but not all poor decisions are against the Maker's will," she said. "Perhaps it is time to let Cassandra forge her own path. Without outside help. There comes a time when help becomes harm, and it is difficult to discern that line when we are the ones straddling it."

Cassandra looked at Leliana triumphantly, but the expression faded when Justinia continued. "But Cassandra, take care that you see the world as it is, and not as you fear it to be. I have not received Cullen Rutherford's confession, nor have I spoken to him more than briefly outside of our meeting, but I would not describe him as a man who is healing. More man who is moving despite a pain that lingers."

"I'm sure you're wrong," said Cassandra.

"She's not," said Leliana, arms crossed and foot tapping. "Stop being such a stubborn, frightened idiot and tell him how you feel. If you don't, I will. I swear it."

Cassandra's stomach clenched, and she snapped, "Just because you are in love with a married man, one who has a wife, and a child, and a life that will never include you, that does not give you the right to try to make my life into what you can't have. Aedan sleeps with you, but he will go back to the Queen, and whether I am with Cullen Rutherford or not that will never stop being true. Please cease your efforts to make me into your own impossible happy ending!"

A terrible silence fell, and Cassandra stood in the center of it, shaking. Justinia's expression filled with concern, and when she stepped forward to touch Leliana's arm, the bard's face crumpled into abject despair. Tears ran down her cheeks in a steady stream, and Cassandra clenched her fists against the pain she'd caused. "Leliana, I am sorry. I didn't mean it. Please. Aedan loves you very much," she began, but Leliana snarled and turned away.

Justinia nodded her head toward the door as she guided Leliana to a nearby couch. The red-haired woman leaned into her shoulder and sobbed unreservedly, and Cassandra stopped at the exit. "Forgive me," she whispered, but it was too quiet to be heard over the sounds of a broken heart.

* * *

The training yard was the only place left to her, and she headed for it with a single-minded determination that had the other residents of Haven scattering out of her way. Cullen was there, working with his future troops, but she stalked past him with barely a glance. She grabbed at the sword she always wore and found an empty dummy to destroy. A few other fighters tried to speak to her, but she didn't acknowledge them. She didn't even know what they wanted. To spar. To train together. To correct her form. Maybe to use the dummy. Whatever it was, she had no space to care.

As she pivoted and slashed, looking for openings in her unmoving opponent's guard, she pushed the confusion of her mind into a smaller and smaller box. It wasn't gone, but she could make it almost invisible. Put it with the other boxes, the ones deep in the well of her soul that were never, ever opened. Except with Cullen, when he'd gently forced her to see them, and that memory let some of the confusion out again. She focused. High guard. Low strike. Cullen was a memory, a past that would never be recovered. Step forward. Dance back. The Hands were only distractions in other people's stories.

By the time she'd finished she was dripping with sweat, a smelly, sopping mess. A small audience lined the fence, including Hawke with her disconcerting stare, but Cassandra lacked the energy to wonder what she was thinking. She was empty, completely and utterly spent, and before she was aware of the intention she'd begun to pray. _Maker, forgive me all of my vain sins. Forgive the pain I've caused to others in the midst of my own. Help me to resist temptation in the future and rely only on You. Comfort Leliana, for she is Your most faithful servant, far beyond my meager efforts. And bring Cullen the happiness he deserves. Love him in the way I cannot. He is also Yours, and he deserves much better than he has been given._

Cassandra opened her eyes, feeling oddly peaceful, and Cullen was in front of her. His armor was scored, no longer gleaming, and he had the look of a man who'd been hard-worked in the ring. There was no expression on his face, but that was better than the anger or irritation she now feared. He held out a waterskin, and she accepted it gratefully. She took small swallows and set a deliberate pace, but by the time she was done it was nearly empty. "Thank you," she said.

He said nothing, only took the pouch again. His fingers brushed her own but neither of them reacted, and he nodded once before he walked back to his men. The sight of his back didn't hurt nearly so much as it had. The Maker was faithful.

She was about to find Hawke, to finally take up the mantle that Justinia had laid on her, when she heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her. She turned with a questioning look which quickly became puzzled. The man was about her age, shorter and handsome in a lean, hungry way, but his face was disconcertingly familiar. He wasn't in Templar armor, so it was unlikely she'd met him at a garrison, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen him somewhere before.

Then he smiled, and his eyes crinkled in a terrifying rush of memory that left her speechless. "Hey, Princess," he said. He extended a finger, steady and delicate, to brush the scar on her cheek. "I hope you remember me."

James, the fletcher's son. The boy who'd captured her and cut her, outside and in, and now he was back in her own story. She said nothing, too shocked to react, and he laughed lightly at her silence. "It's good to see you, too."


	17. Moonlit Nights

"What are you doing here?" asked Cassandra. She'd meant it to sound accusing but it only came out dazed.

"When Knight-Commander Rutherford offered the chance to travel here, I took it. Always wanted to see this place. And, of course, keep my eye on you," said James. He flashed her a blinding smile. "You've done well for yourself. Maybe even better than your birth entitled you. But I've been watching, from a safe distance, and I'll thank you not to repay my long-ago challenge to you in the ring. I'm no match for you, and the results wouldn't be nearly so enjoyable for either of us."

Her face colored at the memory, and she realized with a start that he was flirting with her. The thought was so absurd that it shook her out of her stupor. She ran back over his answer with a frown, and she asked with more of her usual manner, "You were at Kirkwall? Why wait until now to speak with me?"

James looked down, then back up at her face with boyish shyness. "A lot of reasons, I guess. We didn't part on the best terms. I wasn't sure how you'd react," he said. She snorted, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "There never seemed to be the right moment. And I'm just a servant. Not much to speak of, for someone of your stature."

Cassandra heard the echo of Cullen's voice, recounting the tale of the man from Weisshaupt who'd wondered if she would have accepted a grander man, and against her will she felt herself unbending slightly. "Rank matters little to me. But these things are still true, so why now?"

His eyes darted to the edge of the yard, where Cullen still instructed the veteran Templars on the tactics of unit fighting. "I don't press another man's claim."

She bristled. "I am not a claim."

James's eyes widened. "Oh. No, of course. But he was the Commander. He might not have appreciated the competition," he said. He smiled again. "I'd have had no choice but to compete for you, Princess. And I'm not accustomed to losing."

"Seeker will be sufficient," said Cassandra icily. "And the Commander is not that sort of man."

"I'm just a Tevinter refugee. Seeker," he said, with insincere emphasis on her title. "I couldn't take the chance. But here I think the Chantry will protect me if he takes issue with my interest in his woman."

She thought about correcting him again, that she was not a possession and belonged wholly to herself, but this was not the place for an argument. And there were more important things to say. "The Commander and I are colleagues alone," she said, astonished at how difficult it was to force the words past her throat.

"Even better," said James. He winked, and she squinted at him suspiciously.

Cassandra felt more like her old self, but she still wasn't sure what to do with this ghost of a boy she'd hated for so long. The path was clear in front of her - her love had returned, exactly at the moment she needed him, and with his penitence and her maturity they would begin anew. Only she couldn't seem to bring herself to step onto it.

She frowned. And he hadn't actually apologized for anything. When she opened her mouth to point this out, he cut her off. "I'm sure you have questions. I'd like to hear about you, as well. Can I offer you a drink in the tavern? I know you've had water, but I think you can stand something stronger," he said, smiling.

The prickle of eyes on the back of her neck forestalled her answer, and she spun around, half-hoping it was Leliana to rescue her. No matter how unlikely it was. Instead, it was an even less likely Marian Hawke.

"Cassandra Pentaghast?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question. "For a woman who was so eager to pump my friends about me, you're astonishingly hard to talk to." The ice-blue eyes looked past her. "Hello. James, isn't it?"

"Yes, Champion," said James in the formal tones of a servant.

Hawke laughed suddenly, a sound of pure amusement, though Cassandra couldn't see what was funny. "Well, James, I need to interrupt your business with the Seeker. Unless it was urgent?"

He shook his head and glanced at Cassandra. "Just renewing an old friendship. Nothing that won't wait. Will I see you later?" he asked, and Cassandra took a long moment to realize he was addressing her.

"It is likely," she said, and he touched her hand once before walking away.

Hawke watched him go. "Was he really an old friend of yours? I apologize, if so."

"I knew him long ago. I don't know if we were ever friends," said Cassandra.

"Ah. That describes most of the people in my life, too," said Hawke. She looked after him with mild interest. "I got him out of Tevinter - where he'd sold himself on accident to a magister's family, the idiot - because no one deserves slavery, but I can't say I like him much. Still, it's hardly any of my business. Other things are, however, and I'm told you're the one to talk to about them. Can we take a walk?"

She held out her crooked arm for Cassandra, like a man at a formal ball, and after a moment of confusion she took it. Hawke seemed even more amused than ever, and Cassandra saw Cullen's eyes follow them warily as the pair headed out into the streets of Haven. She'd never wanted to know so badly what he was thinking. She'd never been so far from knowing.

"So what did my friends tell you about me? Varric and Aveline must have made very different interrogation targets," said Hawke lightly.

"Varric, Aveline and Cullen told me many things," said Cassandra, emphasizing the final name. She couldn't help but notice that heads were turning to take second looks at her companion with every person they passed.

Hawke grinned. "Cullen and I were _definitely_ never friends. A girl can't be friends with a body like that, can she?" She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the sun, leaving Cassandra to steer them away from obstacles and gawkers while trying to control her rising blush. "It was such a shame he was a Templar."

Cassandra seized on the opening gratefully. "Yes. Varric told me that your sister was a mage, as well as your father. You were sympathetic to them throughout your time in Kirkwall. Why did you take up the Templar's cause in the final battle? Was the lunacy of Anders so affecting?"

"Anders wasn't a lunatic," said Hawke sharply, and Cassandra stopped, startled. They were at the opening of an alley, and Hawke pushed her into it roughly. "The mages were treated like animals, worse than animals, and the Templars were power-mad lunatics who wouldn't listen to reason. My sister ran her whole life from them, and even the decent ones would have locked her in a cage for no crime at all. The usual ones would have made her life torture. Bethany never would have survived in the Gallows. She was an opinionated pain, like all good sisters, and she would have been made Tranquil faster than I could snap my fingers. Women who looked liked she did usually were."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, and Hawke laughed sardonically. "Don't tell me you don't know, _Seeker_. Anders did what he had to do to make people pay attention. It worked. The Divine is here. You're here, and so am I. There will finally be some justice in Thedas."

She stopped talking, and Cassandra watched her place a sunny smile back on her lips, like an Orlesian mask slipping on over a real face. "But a blood mage killed my mother. He was insane. They're not all good, so hey. I made a choice."

"You're lying," said Cassandra, a little more forcefully than she'd intended, but the knowledge of it was bright and clear inside of her. "You would have let them all go with blood still dripping from the arms. It's obvious you hate the Templars, more than anything. What was your real reason?"

Hawke's smile never left. "Varric told me you were good at reading people. You certainly figured him out. Or most of him. I guess you never figured out he could have led you to me." She picked a fleck of dirt off of her elbow studiously. "My reasons are mine. What does it matter to you?"

Cassandra knew, in the small, shameful part of her soul, that part of her easy acceptance of Varric's final lies was that she hadn't wanted this woman anywhere near Cullen again. But the dwarf had been convincing, she had to admit. An issue she would sort out later. "It matters because I can't let Justinia appoint you the leader if you're still full of hate."

"The leader of what?"

There was genuine curiosity on Hawke's face, and Cassandra crossed her arms. "Cullen didn't tell you?"

"He told me that if I came here, it would help my cause. That the Divine was open to reform if I talked to her Right Hand. You. That's all."

"You swore yourself to his personal service on something so insubstantial?"

Hawke laughed then, a belly laugh that had her steadying herself against the nearest wall. "Sweet Maker, did he say that? I said I'd come along and check it out. I'm not sure that counts as a personal service oath." She got herself under control and shrugged. "It was insubstantial, but I felt like I owed him. He's been helping me and my group funnel people through Kirkwall since I left, not that he knows I'm the one he was working with. Fenris was a good front. I didn't think Cullen was looking to betray me, and it seemed worth the risk, though I held out for a few days. He's sexy when he begs."

Cassandra's hands clenched before she could stop them, and Hawke's eyes sparkled. "Boy do you have it bad," she said. "Not that I blame you."

Understanding dawned. "You sided with the Templars because of Cullen. Because you loved him." And still did, most likely. "He did not believe that to be the case."

"Love had a lot to do with it," said Hawke, and for once she seemed sincere. "Does that satisfy you? I didn't come here to be a leader - Kirwkall was more than enough bureaucracy for a lifetime - but I'll do it if it will help the mages gain their freedom."

"I haven't yet decided."

"Let's keep walking then," said Hawke with a charming grin. She stepped back out into the street and instantly the town watched her once more. Something about her spun the world on a new axis, and it was easy to see why she'd never lacked for allies. "I'll convince you. And you can tell me what you really think about my old friends."

* * *

The next days didn't settle into routine, as the very word rebelled against the ordered chaos coming to Haven, but they at least became more familiar. Cassandra greeted dignitaries, met bodyguards and sized them up, and used her tutored skill with languages to eavesdrop on the unnsuspecting visitors. The religious functions she usually performed fell away, except for the responsibility of the prayer sessions that she shared with the Divine and Leliana. They rotated as they always did when they were together, and Cassandra saw hundreds of faces in each congregation. Cullen was never one of them.

Leliana graciously extended forgiveness for Cassandra's callous words, but though it was honest it wasn't complete, and much of what had been strong between them was broken. Their conversations became functional and professional, and to Cassandra's surprise she found herself missing the interfering personal comments that the Left Hand had always had waiting for every occasion. But the chances to use them never arose. They didn't talk about the refugee aid in Kirkwall, or the reappearance of James, or why Cassandra still slept in her tent behind the Chantry. They didn't talk much at all, and Leliana took to having her meals with her scouts every night.

Even more distressingly, Leliana extended the same coolness to a dumbfounded Aedan, who took on the look of a kicked dog whenever the Orlesian woman greeted him with her most bard-like smile. Neither of them asked Cassandra to help them, which was just as well. Even if she'd been capable of it, their reconciliation would only lead to more pain.

Instead, Cassandra spent more time with Hawke and Varric in the execution of her task. The dwarf was unrepentant about his lies, and Cassandra quickly learned that her anger rolled off of him easily in front of the Champion. Whatever camaraderie had formed between them in the weeks at Kirkwall was gone once Hawke sat between them. But Cassandra was heartened that it didn't feel broken, only invisible, like a claw retracting into a cat's paw so cleanly that it couldn't be seen. One night he passed her two new chapters of _Swords and Shields_ with a small wink, and she thanked him sincerely. At least there was one person's regard she hadn't entirely lost.

Hawke herself was harder to sketch in. Cassandra certainly felt her charm, and even beyond it she genuinely liked the woman. She was warm and kindly, despite the sarcastically irreverent streak that didn't so much run through her as consume her. Cassandra had to admit that it wouldn't be the worst thing for a less devout person to run the Inquisition, were it necessary. The Maker would bless them, but the practicalities of the world sometimes required a less exalted view. And Hawke was funny, one of the only people who could lift her spirits at all as the Conclave approached. Plus, Hawke's disdain of Templars faded in the face of so many personal examples, hand-picked by Justinia for their open-minded natures, and once the rogue even admitted that were they all like this, the Order might become tolerable.

That balance was what Cassandra had been hoping to see. A fervor to save the mages alone wasn't enough, and Cassandra was finding herself in the uncomfortable position of being the only person in the inner group with a suspicion of magic-wielders. She wanted them to be treated humanely, of course, but Leliana, Hawke and even Cullen seemed to forget the damage they could cause, on small and large scales, when given total autonomy. Justinia's card-playing youth made her impassive, but The Divine could not be seen to be biased, even in private, so close to a peace conference, and Cassandra was alone.

Still, Hawke was moderating, and she clearly had the qualities of inspiration and instinct for historical change that Cassandra had always imagined.

And yet.

There was something slippery about Hawke, that mask that Cassandra had seen her put on so many times. She'd stopped wearing it in front of only Cassandra, or so it seemed, but had she truly or was that another ploy? Varric had said Hawke was out of control, but that never seemed true no matter how Cassandra prodded her. Cassandra remembered what Cullen had told her, about how Hawke was so visible that Marian was never known. Was Hawke the shadow life, who only wore masks and had no true face?

But the feeling was hard to pin down, and part of her wondered if she was only searching for a reason to send Hawke away from this place. Despite her best efforts, she felt it like a physical blow every time Cullen spoke, laughed, or sat with Hawke in the public areas of Haven. She didn't want to know what they did in private, but she could picture it all too well.

James hovered around her whenever she left the Chantry, attentive and flattering, but unlike Hawke's absorbing foreground he was only distracting background. He apologized for his betrayal, telling a heartfelt story of his own desolation at his rejection and the loneliness that had led him to new comfort, and she forgave him easily. Too easily for comfort. She'd imagined she'd always be furious at this boy who'd taken the truth her mother had promised her and twisted it into pain, but now that he was here she had no more space for fury. It was only regret, and loss, and the indescribable void of her life that filled her now.

Cassandra did try, earnestly, to re-walk the path that was laid in front of her. The hand of the future beckoned, and she knew without Varric's help that this was how the stories worked. But no matter how James plied her and teased her, there was nothing in him to tempt her to move. He even went so far as to kiss her one night behind the tavern, ale bitter in his mouth as he pressed his tongue against her own. He called her princess in needful whispers, but it wasn't consuming or dangerous now, only sad.

She didn't fight him, almost hoping that a buried spark would catch and fill the hollow place where her heart had been, but nothing happened. His passionate kisses couldn't elicit even a tenth of what she felt simply meeting Cullen's eyes across the room, and she was cold under his touch. After a few minutes she pushed him away gently and walked back to the Chantry on shuffling feet.

The Maker was faithful, but He was also just. She released the last of her hope into the star-filled sky and rededicated herself to her divine calling.

She ran into someone as she mounted the steps towards sleep, and she looked up in horror when she realized it was Cullen. She hadn't been this close to him in days, and he still smelled like leather and metal, with a new hint of the woods around Haven that made him even more deliciously masculine. He'd cut himself shaving that morning, and the angry red line at his throat drew her eyes unerringly.

Cassandra shook herself and tried to remember his desire for distance. Cullen had avoided her nearly completely since she'd given him her room, a task both small and large. Small because of the increasing number of people, but large because they both met frequently with Justinia yet never seemed to meet in the halls. It occurred to Cassandra now that the Divine was doing it on purpose, and she didn't know whether to be grateful or irritated.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled as she looked down at her feet and tried to move around him.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I did not hit you with any force."

"No," said Cullen, touching her arm. "I meant, well, are you okay? You look like maybe you aren't."

Cassandra sighed, and she heard her voice wobble. She stayed quiet until she felt mistress of herself. "It is nothing of import," she said. _Only my missing heart_. "It's kind of you to ask, but I do not expect you to indulge my moods." She looked up at his face and nearly wept at the furrowed line that bisected his brow. His concern was borrowed from the past, but she wanted it in the present so badly she could hardly breathe.

Another box of confusion and pain to shrink and add to her growing internal pile.

He coughed and looked away. "Hawke told me an old friend of yours was here. Was in Kirkwall, actually," he said. She didn't miss the slight hesitation on the word 'friend'. "Is he bothering you? Did he follow you here on ill-intentioned business?"

"No," she said. "He only made himself known to me here, not in the Gallows. And he was not… that kind of friend. I knew him in my childhood, in Nevarra."

Cullen's eyebrows raised. "Did he know your brother?"

"Slightly," she said. "We haven't spoken of him." Partly because she never spoke of Anthony, to anyone, and partly because James seemed to have no interest in conversation not about himself or her. But because Cullen was looking at her with that vast concern that pulled words out of her, she added, "He was more my friend than Anthony's. He was my first suitor, I suppose, though it all seems very awkward and innocent now. I haven't seen him since I joined the Seekers."

"I see," said Cullen. His face held a strange expression, and she wondered, secretly, if he was jealous. But, of course, he wasn't. His voice never wavered as he asked, "Is he looking to renew a young courtship?"

"Yes," she said simply. "But there is nothing to renew. He is not," she began, then broke off with a cough. "What I want."

She'd been so close to saying, _He is not you_ , and nothing would have shamed her more. She had to get out of this conversation. "Hawke is in the tavern," she said abruptly.

Cullen seemed to come back from a distance and said, "Thank you. But I don't think the tavern is for me tonight. I thought I'd take a walk. The stars are beautiful in the mountains."

He paused, and she made herself very small inside of the silence. She wanted to go with him, so badly she was already mapping the path they would take. As the pause went on all of the hope she thought she'd released came flooding back into her. Maybe he would ask her to join him. Maybe he could learn to love the bad Cassandra, the cruel and selfish one that he'd never known except to hate. Maybe through that, somehow, she would be saved.

Instead he sighed and said, "Hopefully I don't get lost," and the moment passed.

She reassured him that the bell of the Chantry would help him find his way and cautioned him against bears before finishing her climb to the Chantry doors. She couldn't resist turning around at the top, just to watch him for a minute longer. She saw Hawke join him as he passed the tavern, laughing and draping herself over his broad shoulders with a whoop of excitement. Her long, dark hair was silvery in the streaming moonlight, and she tossed it like a mane at something Cullen said as they passed through the gates into the village proper.

Cassandra tucked away a final box of pain inside herself before she went to sleep.


	18. Desperate Measures

Cassandra walked around the back of the Chantry after breakfast the next day, hoping to steal a few minutes with _Swords and Shields_ in her tent. None of her friends, or her former friends, had been at the meal, and she'd excused herself from her usual morning training for the comfort of its pages. She'd wondered if knowing it was Aveline would diminish her appreciation of the story, but it almost improved it. Varric had done a masterful job of capturing the thorny captain and her hapless romanticism. Cassandra had never met Donnic, but if he'd been drawn with the same unerring eye, it was no wonder the dwarf had been unable to resist the story.

She'd almost rounded the corner when she Hawke's low voice cut through her. "Please, Cullen."

Cassandra stopped short, her eyes wide and mouth flying open in a gasp. She recognized that pleading tone intimately, from when it had fallen from her own lips, and Cullen's answering, frustrated, "Hawke," almost broke her. She leaned against the cool stone of the holy building and breathed out slowly. What were the odds that they would use her hidden place for their love?

She closed her eyes and prepared herself to walk away when she suddenly frowned and tightened her jaw. It was _her_ place. They both had rooms. Cullen's was practically close enough to touch. Why should she run? If they were going to be inconsiderate enough to show affection in public, she wouldn't be the one who retreated. Besides, she really wanted her book.

Her face covered in careful indifference, she finished her path and stopped short a second time. Instead of the scene she'd expected, Cullen pressing a writhing Hawke against the wall, Cullen was standing well away from her, with his back to Cassandra. Even more shocking, Varric was between them, along with a fourth, hooded figure she didn't recognize. When they saw her the dwarf hissed in a breath, and Hawke's mouth settled into a grim line, but Cassandra was too stunned to say anything.

Cullen kept talking, oblivious to the new tension around him. "I'm not going to ask her to accept this. You can't possibly expect she would," he said. He ran an annoyed hand through his hair, and there was an anger in his voice that Cassandra had never heard before. Not even when he'd confronted her in that crowded storage shed about her own lies. "And the Divine even less so! You realize this jeopardizes everything they're trying to build?"

Hawke narrowed her eyes. "What they're building is worthless if they don't accept it," she said, her gaze moving back to Cullen. "You promised me."

"I promised _you_?" he snarled. "What about your promises, Hawke?"

The fourth figured cleared his throat. "Commander," said a male voice, lilting and musical despite its roughness.

"No," said Cullen, pointing his finger at him. "You don't get to say anything. You're lucky I didn't arrest you last night. You're lucky you aren't in the dungeons of this building."

"It would hardly be my first time in your chains, would it?" said the man sarcastically.

Cullen growled and spun around to pace, then froze when he saw Cassandra standing behind him. She took an involuntary step forward at the anguish on his face, and Hawke mirrored her. "Convince her, Cullen," said the rogue. "This is my price."

But Cullen said nothing, only stared at Cassandra. His eyes were full of some strong emotion that she didn't understand, but they were still more beautiful than Thedas to her. She waited for him to say what he needed to say. She would be his quiet space, this time.

When nothing came, the unfamiliar man pushed back his hood and smiled in a way that didn't reach his eyes. He was tall and wiry, no fighter at all, but he carried himself as though he was. "The Commander seems to have lost his voice. Perhaps I can help. My name is Anders, and I want to be a part of these peace talks."

* * *

"You."

Cassandra's mind was no longer confused but sharp and clear. She was moving before she knew she meant to, scrabbling blindly for her sword. Before she could draw it, a hand was on her wrist, and she snarled at whoever was trying to keep her from this justice. A strong body blocked her path, and Cullen's voice was fast and strained in her ear. "Cassandra, don't."

"He's a terrorist," she said. The Seeker power inside of her lashed out unbidden, and Anders grunted but didn't drop. She stopped sending, confused at the way he seemed to absorb it. "He killed hundreds of people. Women and men I knew. Holy servants, who belonged to the Maker. He's supposed to be dead!"

Varric was next to her as well, holding her back, and she felt their betrayal run down her spine. "You side with him?"

"No," said Cullen. "No, never."

"Then let me kill him," said Cassandra. "Let me!"

"Just try it," said Hawke with her usual smile. She played with a dagger with a casual air that belied the sharp focus of her eyes. "I'm very fast with this. And I really would hate to kill you. I like you, Cassandra. I think you're a good person. I never thought I would say that about a Seeker. Or a Templar," she added, nodding at Cullen. "But it's true. Just listen to him."

Cullen was still holding her arms, his back to Hawke, but he spoke loudly over Cassandra's head. "I won't let you hurt her, Hawke."

"I just said I didn't want to. I'm trying not to. You might be able to stop me, but not without some risk to yourself, and I think she wouldn't like to see you hurt, either, Cullen. Neither would I. But I won't let Anders die."

Cassandra looked past Cullen to see the final mask fall from Hawke's face, and she saw Marian at last. The rogue was in love, with the desperate devotion that should only be for the Maker. But she'd given it to this mage, this murderer, and Cassandra could see the determination that wouldn't be pushed aside. Hawke would die for him. She would kill for him. The Champion had used every drop of her charisma to do this, and to keep the secret of it from the world, and she'd burned every friendship she had in the process. This was what Cassandra had been missing when she tried to understand Hawke. The need for adoration was strong, and drove her forward, but it was the adoration of only one man.

Varric's face was stone below her, and she remembered how painfully he'd spoken of the things that had torn them apart. She wondered if he'd ever been close to telling her the truth. Likely not. Even upright Aveline, the defender of the city, had allowed this to happen. Not only that, but they'd all agreed to never speak of it again.

And Hawke would use Cullen's love against him even now.

That more than anything brought Cassandra back from the edge of violence. "This is why you sided with the Templars," she said. "It was the way to get Cullen to accept this." She heard Cullen inhale sharply above her, and his fingers tightened on her arms in obvious pain.

"This was my price then," said Hawke. "It's still my price now. If you want me to help you, you let him be a part of this. No one will fight harder for the mages than Anders, and any deal that doesn't include his views won't be complete."

Varric snorted. "Yeah, I always thought it was a pity that more peace talks didn't include the perspective of wholesale murderers."

"It was necessary," said Hawke, and Anders stepped closer to her in support. She glanced at him, once, and Cassandra finally placed the faint chord of recognition that was ringing within her. Hawke looked like her mother, stepping on the scaffold. Only Hawke wouldn't let herself fall. She would kill the executioner without a qualm.

"Talk to the Commander," said Anders. He looked at her seriously. "I regret what had to be done. I'd like to make a world where such steps are never necessary again. I believe we have the same goal. Consider it."

He raised his hood and backed away, Hawke stepping in front of him and shielding him on the way out. Cullen released his hold on her and put distance between them, and Varric coughed. "I'll leave you two to talk."

The dwarf skirted past them and her tent, deliberately away from Hawke's exit, and Cassandra wondered if that was a message. But mostly she stared at Cullen, trying to come up with anything to ask him.

* * *

"Tell me," she said when he didn't speak.

"I'm trying." He rubbed a hand over his face, which was lined and exhausted once more. "Hawke came to me in the middle of the chaos in Kirkwall and offered a trade. Her support against the mages for Anders' life and the safety of his believed death. She'd already talked the rest of them into hiding it, even Fenris. Even Sebastian, which I still can't believe. But she understands her pull, better than I realized at the time. We all loved her, by her design. And she spent us all for him.

"The Chantry was already destroyed. Nothing could be done to bring it back, and I was terrified of what would happen if the mages overtook Kirkwall. The people who lived there, they wouldn't have been prepared. They would have been sacrifices for the blood magic that was already ruling our charges, and Meredith's paranoia seemed more than justified. Hawke was one of the most powerful people in the city, and a good fighter. Her group was even better. I thought I needed them."

She shifted a little, and he dropped his eyes. "You're right," he said, though she hadn't spoken. "Those are all reasons, and good ones, but they weren't why. I did it because she asked me to. I was so weak." His voice cracked, but he made no effort to clear his throat. "She promised me that Anders would be sent away, that she'd never have anything to do with him again. All she wanted was his life, she said. She offered to stay in Kirkwall and help rebuild, I suppose to add that extra hope for me that we would be together afterward. That never happened, though."

"Hawke told me she is the one behind the Tevinter rescues," said Cassandra. "She must have remained to set up the organization from within Kirkwall."

Cullen's gaze snapped back up. "No, it was Fenris," he said, before understanding dawned. His heartbreak was all over his face. "Of course. Another trade. One that would bring mages to their cause while giving something to him. I wondered why Fenris would want to help mages. She must have been in contact with Anders the whole time."

"And now his followers are free and entrenched in Thedas." She closed her eyes. "You say you've tracked them, but how easily could they vanish if Anders tells them to?"

He groaned and sagged against the wall. "Oh Maker, what have I done? I thought I was helping," he whispered, and the despair in his voice was a knife through her.

Cassandra moved closer, close enough to rub his shoulder with her hand. "You were. You loved her. You had no reason not to trust," she said. She wasn't sure she fully believed herself, but she had to say something.

She wondered what Leliana would do. She'd never missed the bard's easy friendship more, but this was a secret too dangerous for a broken bond.

It was a measure of Cullen's distress that he didn't try to push her away. "You wouldn't have trusted. You would have known better," he said. He looked at her, finally, and there were tears on his face. "You should have disciplined me. Dismissed me. I should have left so long ago."

"You don't know that I would have made a different decision," she said, ignoring the last. "I'm not as strong as you think."

He clearly didn't believe her, but he should. The proof was right now, in the naked, ugly truth of her next question and his next reply. In a way, she was worse than he'd ever been. He thought he'd been weak for Hawke, but at least he'd believed Hawke cared for him. She knew Cullen was well past any love he'd had for her, and she would still do whatever he wanted if it would ease his pain. It was obvious to her now, with her hand still moving soothing circles over his shirt. She loved him too much to do anything else.

Perhaps this was how one found the truth, by losing everything. In the empty space of her life, the only thing left was Cullen. He'd been the one she was waiting for, she finally knew with undeniable certainty. There was less joy in finding him than she'd hoped when she was a child.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Tell me to leave," he said. "I'm only a liability for you now. I can't be trusted."

Perhaps she wouldn't do _everything_ he wanted. That was a small comfort.

"No," she said. "I trust you. I meant about Anders and Hawke. Do you want me to press Justinia to include him?"

Unwittingly, she'd found the cure to his sadness - surprise. He pushed himself away from the wall, and her hand. "It doesn't matter what I want," he said.

She looked away, the better to hide the fact that it was the only thing that mattered.

Cullen looked at the tent that was still sitting next to them and asked suddenly, "Why did you give me your room? Why are you sleeping out here?"

"It's your room. I've always slept out here," she lied. "I like to be under the stars."

"Cassandra," he said, and while there was knowledge in his voice, there was no accusation. "I know that it was yours. I've known from the beginning."

She flushed. So much for subterfuge. "You deserved a place near the Divine. She will depend on you, in the future."

"She depends on you now. I could have found another place."

Cassandra shook her head. "You're the Commander."

"And that was supposed to be you."

There was no reply to that, so she fell silent.

Cullen sighed. "Anders doesn't deserve inclusion in this. Varric was right. And Hawke will never understand that some lines can't be crossed if I continue to allow her to cross them," he said. "When I went to her, weeks ago, she promised me that she'd had no contact with him. She promised me that she wanted to help. I wouldn't have brought her, otherwise, even though you wanted to see her so badly. When Anders was the one at the meeting point she dragged me to last night, she wasn't even sorry that she lied."

She relaxed slightly. At least Hawke's influence over him wasn't as strong as she'd feared.

"But I think you should let him live," he added. "Let him go."

Adrenaline spiked through her, but she tried to stay calm. "Why?"

His fingers fiddle with the hem of his shirt, and he looked at the ground. "Do you want the practical reasons, or my own?"

"Both."

A faint smile floated across his face before he grew serious again. "Practically, because he never would have come here if he had no contingency plan for capture or death. He had to know he was taking a risk, no matter how confident Hawke was in… well, in me," said Cullen. "Whatever he put in place might be dangerous to Haven. To all of the people here, including the Divine. Letting him go unmolested may stay his hand, especially if the peace process is successful. Moreover, while he may suspect we know of the mage network he's built, it will buy us time to counter it if we need to. I'm still a Templar, even if I've lost my way, and the Templars here are well-trained."

Cassandra nodded reluctantly. "I see that wisdom. You are a better tactician than I," she said. "And what are your reasons? To please Hawke?"

She was proud of the evenness in her voice, and Cullen didn't seem to notice the sudden ache. "No," he said. He looked at her with a strange guilt. "Anders was at Kinloch. He escaped after I arrived, and I never knew him well, but my comrades talked about him quite a bit. He was… rebellious. And Kinloch wasn't like the Gallows, but rebellion still wasn't tolerated. They gave him over to the more enthusiastic Templars."

She didn't need to ask.

"I was never there, for him, but I was for some of the others. Training, they called it. It made me sick, but I thought it was my duty," he said. "I could never stomach the torture that some of them seemed to enjoy, but I never stopped them. Never. And the Gallows was even worse, because the directive began at the top, with Meredith." He looked at his hands. "What Anders did wasn't my fault. It wasn't even the Templars' fault - he made a choice. But I can't pretend we're blameless. I can't pretend that some of the horrors that people claim the mages are capable of weren't born with me.

"Anders had to become a Grey Warden to escape what he endured with us. I've talked to Aedan about what that means, and it's not as glorious as the stories pretend. I didn't make Anders. But I didn't save him. Or anyone else in his position. I've tried to make amends as best I could, and maybe if I let him go, this time, he'll have a chance. At least, if I don't do it for Hawke, but for me."

Cassandra watched as more tears rolled down his face, and she danced from foot to foot as she wavered. Eventually she moved to his side and wrapped her arms around his shaking shoulders. He turned into her easily, naturally, and she held him as he wept. "It's dangerous," she whispered. "He's dangerous."

"I know. But tell me I haven't harmed this world just as much."

"You haven't, Cullen. You haven't," she said. She sighed, the weight of his despair unbearable. "I'll do it. He can leave." _For you_.

"Thank you," he said in a choked voice. "Thank you, Cassandra."

She hoped she wouldn't regret it. "But there is something more."

He leaned back and gave her a careful look as he wiped his face. "What's your price?"

"No price. I will do it regardless," she said. "But I do not think Hawke is suitable to be the Inquisitor."

Cassandra braced for his objection, but instead his face clouded over. "No. I don't think she is. She can go with Anders. Perhaps they'll be better together."

 _I'm sorry_ , she thought, but she was relieved he didn't argue with her. She let him go and stepped away. "I'll talk to them tonight. They will give me until then, I'm certain, and I'd prefer they leave under the cover of darkness."

"I'll be there," said Cullen immediately. "In case they resist."

"Will you be okay?"

"More than I would be if I wasn't there and something happened to you."

She savored the small warmth in her belly at his words, but it was a dangerous thing to do with him still standing over her, within arms' reach. She looked back to her tent to make sure that she didn't ruin their tentative peace with her feelings.

"Meet in the tavern after dinner?" he asked. She nodded, and he gave her a small smile. It turned into a frown when he, too, looked at her tent. "I don't like that you're out here alone."

"It's pleasant," she said. "And I would like to do some reading."

"Of course," he said quickly, turning to leave.

"Cullen?" He looked back at her faint call, and she asked, "How did you know it was my room? From the beginning, I mean? I thought I'd hidden it well." She really had, and her annoyance wasn't feigned.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "It smells like you," he said simply, then turned around and left.

* * *

She'd forgotten about James.

She'd successfully avoided the Divine and Leliana all day, afraid that the knowledge of the traitor in their midst would live in her face. Afraid even more that her own treason would be there for them to read. It was important they not know until it was over. At that point they would be furious, might even dismiss her, but that was a worthy price. She would have done what she could to delay a mage attack. And help Cullen. He was the Commander now, and Leliana was a strong Left Hand. They didn't need her, not truly. Not anymore.

With Cullen's warnings ringing in her ear, though, she did supervise a top-to-bottom search of the Chantry for anything out of place. She told the guards it was an exercise to prepare for the Conclave, and outside of a truly staggering number of elfroot cuttings and iron chunks in scattered barrels, they found nothing.

When she arrived in the tavern, Cullen was sitting at a table with Hawke, alone, and he had the look of a guard instead of a friend, but Cassandra realized she might well be the only one who would notice it. She started to weave her way through the crowd to attract their attention, which was focused on the minstrel in the corner, when James suddenly appeared in front of her. He moved with the deliberateness of a man who'd had several glasses of ale, but his arms slipped around her waist easily.

"Hey, Princess," he said. His smile was as charming as ever, but she was in no mood for it. "Where did you disappear to last night?"

"I was tired," she said, delicately trying to extract herself. He seemed to have more hands than usual, and they were chaste but irritating as they latched on as quickly as she could push them away.

He laughed and leaned in closer. "I would have taken you to bed," he said in a low voice.

Cassandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The forward flirting that had seemed thrilling at fifteen seemed graceless on this grown man, though a small voice whispered that she wouldn't have minded such a line from Cullen. "I'm capable of walking myself to my room," she said, craning her neck. "I actually am here to meet people…"

"Nonsense," said James. "Who could be more important than me? Come on, let me get you a drink. We can take it outside."

"I appreciate the offer," she said, in a voice that she knew sounded polite but was mostly a warning. "Nevertheless -"

James reached up swiftly and drew her into a kiss, and she froze before trying to push him away.

"Cassandra. Are you ready to go?"

Cullen's voice behind her was both welcome and horrifying, and she twisted with new energy to get out of the circle of James' arms. The small hope she'd been nurturing ever since she'd known Hawke would be leaving wavered and sputtered in fear. "Cullen, I was looking for you," she began, before she saw the anger on his face. An anger that wasn't directed at her. She finally managed to get free, and Cullen took a long step to stand slightly in front of her.

She noticed that he stood in such a way that her sword arm was still unimpeded, and she almost smiled despite everything.

"Go away, Knight-Commander," said James. "All respect, ser, but this is only a party for two."

"I wish to leave," said Cassandra in hard tones. "We will speak later. Preferably when you are sober."

The shorter man's face grew thunderous, and he glared at both of them in turn. "So this is what 'colleagues' are these days? Funny to see such a close working relationship. Or is it too much to expect someone so exalted to stay faithful? Maybe your head can't help but be turned by any man with a title, even if it isn't royal."

Cassandra's jaw dropped. She didn't even have time to be embarrassed at his implication she was still intimate with Cullen, as most of her mind was busy reorienting to this new attack.

Cullen seemed to be less unprepared. "I'd say you have little call to talk of faithfulness, after what you chose to do to her," he said. "You weren't so young that you couldn't understand your actions."

She'd thought she'd already hit the highest level of confusion that existed, but she found another plane above her. How did Cullen know anything about that?

James apparently wasn't interested in finding out. "Do you know what her uncle said to me when he dismissed my father? He said that I was an animal, barely worth the air I breathed, and certainly not worthy of even looking at his niece." His charming smile was gone, replaced with pure rage. "My family had to start over with nothing, thanks to her asshole, elitist relatives."

"So you chose to abandon me?" she asked, a spasm of speech she couldn't stop. "My uncle was a fool. I never said anything like that. I never even thought it."

"How was I supposed to know I'd see you again? That you'd come after me? I'd tried to seduce you for months before you talked to me, much less did anything else. Princess Pentaghast liked fooling around with the servants well enough, once she started, but only in the darkest corners," said James.

Cassandra flushed in anger. The tavern had fallen silent, and she realized how many people were listening to their argument. Hawke hopped up to sit on a nearby table and swung her legs as she watched, and something about her presence made everyone else turn away.

"You should have known," said Cullen. "If you loved her, you would have known she would. Cassandra would do no less."

 _We were children_ , she thought quietly. They'd been much too young for love, no matter how she thought she'd felt.

"If I'd known I'd drawn you in so well, I never would have risked it," he said, looking at her earnestly.

Hawke snorted. "Very romantic."

"You weren't there," snapped James. "Neither were you," he added to Cullen. He reached out and touched Cassandra's hand. "Princess, I'm sorry. I loved you, I know now, but I was just afraid. I've been trying to show you that I still do, but maybe I haven't been clear enough. Please give me another chance."

The lies were so transparent, it was almost an insult to her Seeker training to identify them. "If you loved me, you'd call me by my name," she said, releasing her past with an ease that startled her. "I apologize for the words of my uncle, which were uncalled for and false, but I am simply not interested."

Muffled laughs came from the surrounding tables, and James flushed an angry red. "Fine. Word is you're not exactly a pure proposition now, anyway. The Commander can have you."

Cullen reached out to grab the other man's shirt and yanked him close with a terrifying violence. "I don't strike my men, which is fortunate for you, because no man has ever deserved it more," he said. He looked around, his eyes lighting on a nearby table. "You're his friends, right? Take him to the barracks. Dry him out."

"Bastard," muttered James as Cullen shoved him away, and Cassandra's hand itched over her sword.

Cullen saw it and gave her a dark smile. "He's not worth the mess. Come on."

Hawke jumped off the table and asked, "What about a dagger that nicks his earlobe? Just a little? I wouldn't mind. He was definitely not worth the effort I spent sleeping with him. And trust me, it was a lot of effort on my part. Whoever says the woman just has to lay there is very misinformed."

Cassandra's hand flew to her mouth in a shocked laugh, and Hawke's eyes sparkled. Cassandra felt a small pang in knowing that she would be sending this woman away, which was an odd thing to think about a woman who'd sincerely threatened to kill her earlier that day. Who'd let a mass murderer live out of love. She shook her head. Hawke was as indescribable as Varric had claimed.

They turned to leave, still smiling, when a bottle flew through the air behind them and shattered against Cullen's head.


	19. Playing Doctor

Cullen sank to the floor, dazed. Blood ran down his face in ugly streams and dripped crimson on the wooden floor.

For a minute the tavern was silent, and then chaos reigned. Hawke drew her daggers with speed, but Cassandra yelled at her to check Cullen as she spun around. James' friends were standing, half-aggressive and half-stunned, while he himself waited with a smug grin.

"Not so pretty now, is he?" he said. He sank into an unarmed fighting stance and winked at her. She wondered how she'd ever thought he was handsome.

Cassandra drew her sword, and the people around her scattered. James raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Afraid to face me in a fair fight?" he asked. "Come on, let's spar. If I win, I get you."

"I would destroy you on any field," she said dismissively. "This is not about sparring, and I will set the terms." She feinted left to draw his gaze then turned right to bash his nose with the hilt of her weapon. Those that were left in the room let out a pained groan as James staggered back.

"That was my nose, you bitch," he said indistinctly, his hands raised to his face to cover the bleeding.

"Be glad it was only the hilt," she said, then sheathed her weapon and wrenched his arm behind his back. He cried out as she twisted it up slightly higher than strictly necessary and slammed him onto a nearby table. The patrons had the presence of mind to lift their mugs before the wood rattled, and she smiled at them coolly. "You assaulted your commanding officer. The terms are, you will wait in the dungeon as long as I choose."

He looked up at his friends and growled, "Get her off of me."

"You are welcome to attempt it," said Cassandra conversationally, eyeing them with interest.

As one man, they stepped back, and she nodded. She turned behind her, briefly, to see Hawke kneeling over Cullen. "How is he?"

"Nothing vital, as far as I can see, but I'm no healer," said Hawke.

"Then take him to one," said Cassandra, amazed at the calmness of her voice. Inside she was screaming that he was hurt, that he might be maimed, that he might bleed out, and she let that voice guide her next twist of James' arm. She felt his tendons protest, which soothed her. "We have several here. They can help. And don't let him fall asleep."

Hawke grinned. "Oh, I'm very good at keeping men awake," she said. She stood and slung Cullen's arm over her shoulder. He was responsive enough to help her, which eased some of Cassandra's fear. "Come on, handsome. You've got an appointment to get to."

"Cassandra," he said vaguely, and Hawke gripped his chin gently to turn his head towards her and her prisoner. The blood running over his eye made him squint, and she saw a dozen cuts across his face. His eyes slowly drew into focus. "Okay?"

"I'm fine," said Cassandra. "Go."

"She's got her man right where she wants him," said Hawke as she tugged him away. "Just like I do. Don't hurt him too much!" she called behind her as they wove through the crowd.

"Only if he insists upon it," answered Cassandra, then turned back to the whimpering man. "Will you insist?"

He indicated with a pained noise that he wouldn't, and she hauled him up to take him to the dungeons of the Chantry without any attempts at gentleness.

* * *

Once James was secured, with her less than gentle first aid, and she'd thrown him a potion to ease the pain, she stopped in the Chantry's assembly to kneel in prayer for Cullen. She was no healer, and this pleading was the best help she could offer him. She felt tears gathering behind her eyes, and she screwed them shut tightly to fend them off. He would be okay. The Maker was faithful. She would pray until she had no more words left to give.

After an hour passed, her knees were sore from the hard stone, and she rose slowly. She glared down at her traitorous body, older than it should be and growing creaky with time.

Justinia and Leliana were behind her when she turned around, and she started. Leliana's newly impassive demeanor broke, and she took a half-step forward. "Cassandra! What happened?"

She must have looked confused because Justinia said, "You are bleeding, child."

"Oh," she said. She looked down. "That's not mine. There was an incident at the tavern. I imprisoned the instigator. He will come for your judgment when you next sit. You do not need to rush that day."

"Were the injuries severe?" asked Jusitinia.

"The man in the dungeons had a lightly broken nose. I set it before I left. His shoulder is also wrenched, but he is none the worse for that," said Cassandra. "His… victim has several cuts across his face, but he seemed stable when he was taken to the healers."

Leliana's eyes had narrowed at her hesitation. "Who was the victim?" she asked. Her face paled. "Was it King Cousland?"

"No! No, he was not even there, I believe. It was Knight-Commander Rutherford."

Both women gasped. "Cassandra, I'm sorry," said Leliana. She frowned. "He doesn't seem to be the type to get in bar fights."

"It wasn't his fault. It was mine. I was not tactful," said Cassandra. She looked past them to the door. "I have been praying here, for him, but I was considering checking on him at the healer's cabins. But it is growing late. So perhaps not."

A familiar exasperation entered Leliana's expression, and Cassandra almost smiled. "Go, you idiot. He'd rather be woken up by you than sleep any day."

She nodded and walked past them to the doors, but stopped to squeeze the bard's shoulder. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," said Leliana. The candles wavered as she knelt down at the nearest prayer bench. "I will also pray for his safety."

"As will I," said Justinia, and Cassandra left the two women in silent vigil with a heart that was too full for words.

* * *

Cullen wasn't in the healer's cabins, and they'd heard of no injury when she asked them. Panic filled her, and she wondered if his injuries had been more serious than they looked. She rushed back towards the tavern, terrified of seeing a rogue standing over an unmoving man. She was close to calling in the guards to help her search when Varric yanked her into the shadows.

"Come on, Seeker," he said, and together they walked into the nearby woods until they found a clearing. Cullen was stretched out on the ground, with Anders kneeling over him and Hawke throwing her dagger into the ground at a safe distance.

Cassandra finally exhaled when she saw Cullen move.

"I told you to take him to the healers," she hissed at Hawke, who glanced up at her mildly.

"Anders is the best healer I know."

"But Cullen is a Templar!"

Anders turned his head slightly. He was thin to the point of emaciation, something that his robe and hood had hidden from her before, but he didn't seem ill. "I help anyone in need. I would be a poor healer if I turned aside a patient simply because I disliked his moral stance," he said. "Or his history. Of course, after they're healed, I make no promises about any further hospitality."

Cassandra paled, and Hawke laughed. "Don't worry. Like I said, we like Cullen. For the most part. He'll be fine. Go see for yourself."

She accepted the command and walked closer to the two men. Cullen's eyes were closed, but he didn't seem to be asleep. "Light healing trance," said Anders absently. "It helps. It especially helps the healer not slap his patients. You wouldn't believe how much they fight sometimes."

Cassandra didn't answer as her eyes roved over Cullen's face. A green light surrounded him, and she felt the surge of lyrium through the glow. She reached out to touch it, briefly, and Anders added, "It won't harm him. He had a dozen cuts, and a moderate concussion, but I've seen worse. Healed worse. My magic is fresh, right now, thanks to the rest and the food Hawke brought me, so it wasn't any trouble." He frowned, but it was the frown of an artist unsatisfied with his masterpiece. "There will be one scar above his mouth. It was a deep cut, and someone let him talk on the way to the clearing. I couldn't fix it all."

Hawke called out, "I heard that. You try to shut up a yappy Templar and lug him around at the same time. He kept trying to turn back. You're lucky we got here at all."

"My love, you've lifted men far larger than him. Me, for instance."

"You're taller," agreed Hawke. "But you've got hollow bones, like a bird. He was pure dead weight, and I'm a very delicate flower."

Anders smiled to himself, and Cassandra narrowed her eyes. He turned his head, quick as lightning, and she was startled to see his eyes flash a deep blue. "Not so easy to hate us when we become people, is it?" he asked.

"I do not hate mages," she said. "I hate murderers, whether they are mages or not. You killed my friends. They were innocent."

"Your friends killed many more of mine, and they were no less innocent," he countered. "Is it better that it happened over decades instead of all at once?"

"To kill anonymously is a coward's weapon. Only seeing the faces keeps justice from becoming slaughter."

To her surprise, he smiled. "Justice might not agree with that." He sobered and turned back to Cullen's healing. "So you believe it's better to be a sadist, who sees a man for who he is and kills him anyway."

"It's not sadism to protect. It is not sadism to remove evil from the world. You protected nothing, only destroyed. And the only evil was yours."

Anders sighed. "It's nothing I haven't heard before. You may even be right, in a way. But it was what there was. Killing the bad apples when they appeared in my hands only led to orchards full of them waiting to be unleashed. The world didn't care, as long as it stayed on its steady course. I made you care. The world is at last seeing instead of turning aside," he said. "Have you ever killed anyone, Seeker Pentaghast?"

"Yes," she said. "I've executed prisoners, both as a Seeker and as the Right Hand. I've fought bandits and mages and Templars who have lost their way. It's not always been clean."

"Do you feel the world has changed because of it?"

"Yes. The wrongs are removed, leaving more rights," she said. "But I carry their faces on my heart, always. There is no glory in what I've done. The Maker does not let His instruments forget their pain."

"I envy your conviction," he said. "It almost makes me wish I could feel such guilt." He sat back on his heels as the green glow faded. She looked down as Cullen stirred, and Anders stood and walked over to talk to Hawke and Varric.

Cullen's eyes found hers immediately. "Where's James?"

"In the cells," she said, clenching her fists around her tunic to keep her fingers from running through his hair. "He'll face Justinia."

"Good," he said. "I thought I saw him bleeding, but I wasn't sure if it was mine. Was he?"

Cassandra nodded. "I had to subdue him."

He grinned, then, and she couldn't help but smile back. "I wish I'd been able to see it. He deserved worse, after what he did to you," he said.

That triggered her memory, and she asked, "How did you know about that?"

He blushed. "Leliana told me about the man in your past, and she gave me no details but she did say he was an early disappointment, in Nevarra. When you reacted so poorly to him, I took a guess. And on the journey here he spoke often of a noble woman he would, well, conquer, once he'd arrived in Haven. Someone who he claimed was his. If I'd known he was talking about you, I would have left him on the road. Up a tree. Naked."

A musical laugh came from behind them, and Hawke plopped down on Cullen's other side. Anders and Varric flanked her. Hawke touched Cullen's temple lightly. "I suspected she was his target when I saw him in the training yard with her. I'm even more glad I chased him away, now, though I'm still sorry I slept with him on the trip. But he was very persistent, and I was very bored. All of that praying you Templars do is not exactly fine entertainment."

Cassandra glanced at Anders, who seemed unconcerned. He caught her look and smiled. "I have no ties to monogamy, Seeker. And Hawke would wear out even me."

She elbowed him as Varric chuckled, and the rogue rolled her eyes. "You're all so mean to me," she said with a pout, and Anders leaned forward to kiss her deeply and thoroughly, without any shame.

The rest of them looked around the clearing as though it was the most fascinating thing they'd ever seen.

"How was that for mean, love?" asked Anders after they broke apart.

"Well, you didn't finish, so I'm not ready to pronounce it even," said Hawke. She sobered and looked at Cassandra. "So, what did you decide? Will Anders be allowed to speak?"

Cassandra hesitated and looked at Cullen, who rose to a sitting position. It was enough, and Hawke's eyes grew cold. "I see. May I ask why?"

"The mages will already be heard," said Cassandra. "The rebel mage group is sending representatives, and they'll receive a full seat at the table."

Anders scoffed. "They wouldn't understand what they needed if someone walked up and told them. Believe me, I've tried," he said. "They just want to build nicer prisons for themselves."

"Perhaps that is what they desire," she said quietly. "Perhaps that is what they need to feel safe."

"If they do, then they're fools."

"Nevertheless. It's no more honorable to dictate to a fool than a wise man. It is merely easier."

Anders jumped up and began to pace. "That's not a good enough reason. I don't ask to take their place. Only to join them."

Cassandra sighed. "If you go to the Conclave, there will be no Conclave," she said. "There will be no peace. Do you not understand? If you appear, the talks will cease to be about the future and will only revolve around the past. On you. Your voice is too loud. Setting aside the idea of whether it deserves to be heard, it will drown out everything until there is nothing left but noise."

He frowned. "I wanted a loud voice. It's the only way to get anyone to hear."

"All they will hear is the messenger. The message will be lost, if you are there. I am sorry," she said, and she almost meant it. She twisted her fingers together, and Cullen touched her leg. His support lent her strength. "I will offer you this - my ears will not be closed to you. I do not guarantee your desires will all be granted, but I will listen honestly. I cannot forgive what you did, but forgiveness is not required for diplomacy."

Hawke sneered at the word, but Anders only looked surprised. "You won't let me join, but you'll let me leave?"

She nodded, and he shared a quick glance with the dark-haired rogue. It was enough. Cassandra knew Cullen had been right about his contingencies, and she wondered dully how deadly they would have been. It was almost enough to make her rescind the offer, but she remembered in time that Cullen wanted to atone.

"You and Hawke may both leave."

Varric sighed quietly in what Cassandra thought was relief, and Hawke glared at him. "Why do I have to leave?"

Cassandra shrugged. "You don't. But I thought you might like to stay with your… lover. The leadership position is no longer available."

Hawke produced a dagger from her sleeve, and Cullen tensed. "If Anders isn't here, I need to be, to be his voice in proxy."

"No. It must be me," said Cassandra.

"Why should I trust you? As soon as we're gone, you can do anything you like."

Cullen finally spoke. "Cassandra is honorable," he said, and she looked at him in surprise. She would be, with them, but he was the last person she'd thought would believe she had any honor at all. He only looked at Hawke as he added, "She's an agent of the Divine. And the Seekers are almost too dedicated to upholding their promises. She is the same." He finally glanced at her with a curious expression. "She would cause herself any amount of distress to follow through on her word, once given."

Cassandra tried to hide her confusion and focused on the pair studying her. "If you don't trust me, then this was already lost."

Anders stopped pacing and looked at her. "If I'm to trust you, I'll have the answer to a question. What did you do to me, when we first met? After I introduced myself. You did something new."

She glanced at the people around her, though she didn't linger long on Cullen's face. "The Seekers are granted abilities through their training. They are uncertain until they manifest, but mine allows me to light the lyrium in a person's blood on fire. I attempted to do that to you, though your reaction was not usual."

Cullen made a small noise next to her, but she didn't bother to confirm his fear. Hawke, on the other hand, was more furious than afraid. "You tried to set him on fire?"

"It is not an actual flame. More a sensation. A painful one."

Anders hadn't moved. "Interesting. Would you do it again? Now?"

She stared at him, but he seemed perfectly serious. She shrugged and sent once more, the Fade rippling slightly around her as she found the lyrium and touched it. Once again he seemed to absorb it, and now that she was listening closely the grunt wasn't of pain but pleasure. She stopped when the sounds grew too much, and he smiled as he opened his eyes. They were blue-touched again, and the color faded away slowly as he watched. "That's remarkable. I'm sorely tempted to ask you to come with us."

Cassandra's anger flared once more, but she only said, "So you'll go?"

His mouth settled into a grim line. "Yes. You've presented your case well, and I it's hard to argue with. Moreover, I find myself in the odd position of trusting you, which, if not pleasant, at least gives me hope. I'll go, if you'll give your word that your ears, and your heart, will remain open to us. The Chantry wouldn't listen in Kirkwall, or act when they did. I believe you'll be less idle."

"I do not know how to be idle," said Cassandra, and they all chuckled. She glared. "I appreciate the trust you are giving. I must ask one promise in return - that your violence will not return to Thedas." Cullen would monitor the mages he could track, and they would certainly try to keep eyes on Anders, but Cassandra suspected he was very good at hiding.

"I promise it won't return so long as it isn't needed," he said, and she sighed. It was likely the best promise she would get.

Anders pulled Hawke to her feet and moved towards his mostly packed bags. "We'll leave now. I assume that's what you're hoping for."

Cassandra nodded, and Varric stood as well to say his goodbyes. Cold and impersonal to Anders, only slightly more thawed to Hawke, and then he left, with a brief nod to Cassandra. She thought he was proud of her, and she was oddly pleased by that.

She helped Cullen up gingerly. "Cullen needs to spend the night with the healers, but I will escort you to a safe path out. With two horses, if you will leave them at a nearby inn to be sent back."

Hawke and Anders agreed, but Cullen balked. "I'm going with you," he said. Cassandra's heart squeezed. Of course he would want to spend as much time with Hawke as possible. Even if she loved someone else. Cassandra knew how he felt.

Anders gave him a considering look. "The healing is going to make you sleepy. Light-headed. I'm not sure a walk through the woods will be good for you," he said.

Cullen folded his arms and glared. Cassandra couldn't help but notice how good his biceps looked when he stood that way.

"Oh for Andraste's sake, Cullen, we're not going to kill your girlfriend," said Hawke as she bent over her own things. "Though I wouldn't exactly object to it, right now."

"Don't be jealous, love," said Anders. "It wasn't my pleasure I was looking for in her company. But it will be yours, in the end."

She gave him a grudging smile, looking slightly mollified. "Well. Okay then."

Cassandra had barely moved since Hawke had thrown out her terrifying word, and Cullen cleared his throat. "I'm still accompanying you." And no matter how Cassandra protested, he wouldn't be moved.

* * *

They walked a mile to a sheltered path down the mountain, away from the main road, leading the horses behind them. The stablehands had been glad to give two horses to the Right Hand in the dead of night, and for that she was very grateful for her title. Once they reached a safe place, Cassandra stopped them. "This is it," she said.

"Ah yes, I thought this stretch of dirt seemed different from the rest," said Hawke, rolling her eyes. "Thanks for the tour."

Anders' thanks was more sincere, which surprised Cassandra once again, and when he mounted he had a small smile in his eyes. "I told you. We're people. I'm pleased to have met you, Seeker Pentaghast. I suspect you won't say the same about me, but Justice likes you, and that's enough to go on for now."

She didn't understand, but he didn't elaborate and it wasn't important enough to press. Hawke's goodbye to her was curt to the point of rudeness, but she turned to Cullen with her usual winning smile.

"So long, handsome," said Hawke and wound her hands around his neck. She was shorter than he was, and she stood on her tiptoes while he held her hips. They looked so much like comfortable lovers that Cassandra looked away.

But she had to look back when Hawke murmured," You look even more handsome with this," and touched his lip lightly.

Cullen's flush showed up easily under the bright moonlight, and he stammered out a thank you. Hawke breathed a sultry acknowledgment, and before Cassandra could prepare for it the rogue was kissing him deeply, pressing against him in a slow, undulating wave.

Cassandra stood, frozen, until her mind caught up with her and she spun around to examine a tree. It was a very strategically important tree, she tried to tell herself as she blocked out the noises behind her that weren't at all strategically important. No matter how much enjoyment they were conveying.

By the time her examination was finished, Hawke had mounted and was smiling a smile at her that wasn't quite nice. "So long. Good luck with your peace talks."

They watched them ride away until they were lost over the rise of the mountainside. Cassandra scratched her elbow and said, "Are you okay to walk back?" She didn't look around.

"Yes," he said, and his voice sounded a little distant. Like it had traveled away alongside a beautiful rogue, with a seductive smile that even Leliana couldn't match.

Cassandra turned around to walk back to Haven, and Cullen fell into step beside her. They didn't say another word.

* * *

By the time they got to the healer's cabins, he was leaning on her shoulder, and she was worried that they wouldn't make it. Fortunately very few people were awake, and the few that were would hardly be fit to testify to their Commander's condition in the morning. The healer glared at her blearily when she woke him up to ask for a bed, but when he heard that Cullen was mostly healed and merely needed monitoring, he brightened considerably and pointed them to a narrow bed in the corner.

Cassandra led her charge there and sat him down, but he wouldn't lay back. He kept trying to talk to her, but she was in no mood.

"Stop being so stubborn," she said. "You need to rest. And you'll rest here." He tried to speak again and she growled. "Hawke was right, you are yappy."

She regretted mentioning her name immediately, as Cullen's face closed off even in its paleness. His cheeks had lost almost all of their color on the walk, and he looked as though he was dying. Which he wasn't, of course, but the sight didn't make her feel any calmer.

"Go to sleep," she said again, and turned around to talk to the healer. She explained what his wounds had been, and that he'd received a healing from a visiting mage, but that with his concussion it would make her feel easier if he slept with the healer. The healer nodded in agreement and promised to take good care of him before wandering back to doze. His assistant had listened to the whole exchange and assured Cassandra that she liked to stay up all night. She didn't need to worry about her friend.

Cassandra thanked her gratefully, then turned around to leave and jumped when Cullen was standing behind her. "What part of rest do you not understand?" she asked. "I am beginning to fear your concussion robbed you of your mind."

Cassandra propelled him back to the bed, but he hooked himself on a door frame and swung around until he was face-to-face with her. "You shouldn't sleep in that tent," he said. "Not when there's a perfectly good bed in my - I mean, your - room." His eyes were exhausted but determined, and she sighed.

"It is summer. The tent is adequate."

"Please," he said quietly, and she cursed inwardly. Even jealous beyond all reason, she still couldn't resist his requests. He moved closer and swayed before catching himself against the wall.

Maker save her, he was very, very close.

"Promise me," he said. "I won't sleep at all unless I know you're comfortable."

She resisted pointing out that he was practically falling asleep upright as it was. "I promise," she said.

He smiled slowly, and a little dangerously. She wondered how awake he even was. Her eyes caught on his new scar and followed it, and she wondered the same thing about herself.

"How does it look?" he asked softly.

 _Good enough to devour_ , she thought incoherently, and she swallowed. Hawke had certainly thought so, and that still produced a flash of envy, but Hawke also seemed extremely far away at the moment. Cullen most certainly did not, and he was looking at her like a man with a concussion. A man who didn't remember that the woman underneath him had broken his trust into a thousand pieces. His gaze was scorching on her face, the gold flecks in his eyes melting over her, and she couldn't help but shiver at the the delicate flutters of his eyelashes as he fought to keep them open.

"It looks like you need to go to sleep before you fall over," she said as firmly as she could. Which turned out to be a breathy whisper. If only she hadn't just seen how he looked when he kissed someone in earnest. He didn't move, still waiting for her answer, and she finally said, "Your scar looks much better on you than mine does on me."

He frowned. "You're beautiful," he said, and this time she heard the muzziness in his voice. He leaned down and brushed his lips across her skin so gently the pressure almost wasn't there at all. But the heat that flooded through her was, and she knew she had to leave before she took advantage of him in a way that could never be taken back.

"I want to kiss you," he said. The breath of his speech over her ear raised goosebumps all over her body, and she bit her lip. His eyes were closed, and he barely seemed to know where he was. "Just one more time. Before the end."

Her heart stopped as his mouth inched towards her own, and she put her hands on his chest. He sighed happily, but she carefully moved him away from her and led him across the room. "I'm not Hawke," said Cassandra with regret as she lowered him into his bed. She gave in to a single temptation as she corded her fingers through his hair, blessing him with whatever holiness she had remaining.

Cullen murmured something as she walked away, but he was already slipping into dreams before she was out of the door.

* * *

When she got to the Chantry, after stopping by the on-duty guard patrol to tell them to keep a sharper watch for the night, she considered ignoring her promise and going back to her safe, comfortable tent. It was unlikely Cullen would remember her promise, and she was strangely averse to going back to her old room. But in the end she bent to the will of her conscience. Cullen had said she was honorable, and she supposed that included even the times that no one would know if she was or not.

Inside, she tried to ignore the signs of his presence as she went through her trunks and found something to sleep in. She was exhausted enough that she didn't care what, and she had to admit it did feel good not to be on the ground anymore once she was safely on the bed.

She rolled over to find a comfortable position, and her eyes flew open in horror. The pillow smelled like Cullen, the way he did when he was lying next to her in bed and humming as she kissed her way up his neck. Sweat and soap and the hint of cinnamon that always seemed to be on his skin no matter where he was.

It was terribly wrong, but before she could stop herself, she was clutching it to her face, breathing in deeply and lost in memories that were equal mixes of pain and pleasure. But the pleasure won out in the end, and before she fell asleep she brought herself to a shuddering, aching climax, whispering his name into the darkness of the room.

Exhaustion took her soon after, but she held the pillow to her as she drifted away. Like it was the man himself, wrapped inside her arms.


	20. Bended Knees

Cassandra woke at dawn the next morning, tight as a bowstring, and she knew exactly what she'd dreamed of. She tried to find those snatches of Fade that were closed off from her, then flushed in shame as she realized what she was doing. She would get no more sleep, and she refused to yield to her baser desires once more, so she swung out of bed and dressed quickly, hoping to find something to distract her.

When she stepped out and saw Leliana's closed door, alongside the Divine's chambers, she suddenly remembered that she had now betrayed them, too.

Cassandra fled down the hall and into the office where they took care of the Divine's more earthly business. Her fingers sorted the morning's mail mechanically as she tried to determine what she would say to them. The actions that had seemed so obvious to her in the chaos and the hollow sounds of Cullen's pain were slipping away, twisting like a fish from a line. There was no excuse for what she'd done. She'd had Anders at her mercy, a man who was the most dangerous enemy of the Chantry she knew outside of the Imperium, and she'd let him leave with hardly a protest.

He'd healed Cullen. He'd been polite and offered trust. But surely she was wiser than all of that. Surely Cassandra, the Right Hand and Seeker, wasn't so easily touched.

She blinked slowly as she realized that she barely knew who Cassandra was anymore.

The mail lay abandoned as she fled once more, out of the Chantry and into the burgeoning light of a new day. The camp was a ghost town, and even the guards seemed disinclined to speak to her. The confused stablehands saddled and prepared her horse while she paced behind the building, praying she would be gone before anyone else woke. Anyone she knew. Anyone who might stop her from leaving.

The healers cabins were just visible through the slats of wood fence, and she watched one appear and disappear between them during her endless movement. When her horse was ready she mounted swiftly and rode out, not caring the direction. Just away.

* * *

The sun had marched over halfway across the sky, and Cassandra was still in the forests near Haven. Her horse grazed happily by a tree, pleased with this day trip, while his rider stood on a hill and tried desperately to put her mind back in order.

She'd made it only five miles before she stopped, pulled back as though by an invisible cord. Even if she'd meant to leave entirely, to run like Hawke and Anders - and she wasn't entirely sure she had - she couldn't take another step away. But neither could she go back, and so she was stuck watching the sun glint off of the distant mountain stream and cast the shadows of the pines across the face of the hills like brands. Summer still clung to them with fading fingers, but the sky was cold as it always was here, the piercing blue of a lyrium that she couldn't touch.

 _What should I do?_ she asked the Maker silently, but there was no answer. No touch of her heart, no wind stirring around her. And no wonder His surety was gone. She'd betrayed Him as well.

The Chantry bell chimed in the distance, just at the edge of hearing, and her shoulders tensed. She tried to shut her mind to it, but there was nothing that could keep its drone from her soul. One. Two. Three. Time was still moving forward, and she wasn't.

But in the wake of the bells she heard a light laugh, so light as to be unreal, but she recognized it immediately. It was the pleased sound her mother had made, the day she'd planned her equine wedding to a stablemaster with a beard like a cloud. _You are so loved_ , the memory whispered teasingly, playfully.

Memory? Or something outside of her? Cassandra turned, trying to spot the spirit that had given her mother voice, not knowing if she would embrace it or kill it. Instead she saw a mounted Templar staring at her in obvious relief. "Ser," the woman called, "I found her."

A group of horses gathered quickly around the scout, quickly broken apart by Cullen's beautiful charger. He swung off before the animal could fully stop, and he was at her side before Cassandra could react. "Thank the Maker," he said. "We've been worried sick about you." He looked around at her happy horse and her unblemished scenery. "What are you doing?"

"I needed to think," she said.

He nodded. "I understand the need. But next time, please tell someone where you're going."

 _I didn't know_ , she thought, but she asked instead, "Should you be out riding?"

Cullen looked slightly embarrassed. "Perhaps not. The healer said nothing strenuous. But I wanted to be here in case there was anything wrong. Or something had happened to you." He didn't say it but she knew he was thinking about the fugitives they'd released into the night.

"And I was hoping to talk to you," he added, but when she raised an eyebrow he said nothing more. He turned back to his horse and rifled through a saddle bag. "First we have to get you sorted out. They said you didn't come to breakfast, and it's well past lunch, so I brought some food in case you needed it."

Hunger had been the last thing on her mind, but as he pulled out a loaf of bread she realized that she was starving. She took it when he held it out behind him absently. "I know that peaches are your favorite," he said, "but they didn't have any in the kitchens no matter how much I looked. So I brought apples instead. I hope they'll be okay."

And for some reason, a reason she was never able to explain to herself later, that was the thing that dropped the world out from underneath her. That Cullen should know her favorite fruit, and should look for it so diligently, when he had no cause to think he would ever find her again. That he hoped she liked what he brought her, as though she hadn't spent the day considering leaving him for good. Leaving them all. That he could be so matter-of-fact about her, a person even she could no longer trust.

Tears formed in her eyes before she was aware they were coming, too many to contain behind her crumbling self-control. Endless rivers cascaded down her cheeks, and in front of them all, Cassandra broke down sobbing for the first time since her parents died. Great wracking waves of pain shuddered through her and took her away from herself, high into the air where the world was lighter. She couldn't hear anything over the keening sounds tearing from her throat, but she felt Cullen catch her with a grunt before she could sink to the ground. The bread fell from her hand, and she mourned its loss.

The metal of his armor was cool and impersonal, but that was good. That was what she needed to hold on to, even as she fell apart. Her own pieces were scattered and lost, but there was this. Something real, in the world.

Cassandra tried to slow down, tried to breathe, and she gathered just enough silence to hear Cullen say, "Go back to Haven. Tell them that she's safe."

A terrified thought pressed around her, wet and dark, and she tried to speak. His golden head leaned down, so close to her mouth, and she whispered, "Bears."

"Scout the area for bears first," he said without any change in tone, and that consideration set her off once more.

A gauntleted hand ran down her back in even, soothing waves, but she was shaking too much to accept the comfort it offered. Tears for the world, and all the wrong she'd given it. Tears for the people she'd hurt, and the people she would hurt in the future. Tears for Justinia, and Leliana, and Cullen. Tears even for Hawke and Anders, the lost and broken souls she hadn't saved. Tears for Anthony, which she'd never shed, and tears for her parents, which she'd shed in the wrong way.

And most of all for herself. For little Cassandra Pentaghast, so wise and so foolish, who'd grown up in errors never corrected. Too hard to soften, and too soft to be hard. Believing that beauty was by definition short and fleeting, even while serving the eternal Maker. Knowing all of the truths except for the ones in her own heart. Tears for the Cassandra she was now, alone and cruel, with no heart to know.

The hand left her as she cried, the cool metal disappeared under her cheek, and she whimpered in fear. If that was the last real thing, gone, then where would she go? What would she be?

She began to fall back, stumbling into whatever emptiness waited for her, when the hand came back and gripped her waist tightly. "It's okay," said Cullen softly. "It's okay." And when he returned she was pressed against him once more. This time there was no armor but the hot furnace of his chest, and her tears fell more quietly into his warmth. She heard his heartbeat, strong and determined, and she wondered if he still had hers locked inside his chest, marching in counter-time to his own.

He pulled her in shuffling, sideways step, and when he tugged her down she realized they were leaning against tree. Cullen's arms folded her into his side, and she tentatively encircled his waist with her own arms. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Even that much speech was almost beyond her, but once she said it, she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." On and on she repeated it, and she listed her sins in her mind while she begged forgiveness from the world.

It was some time before she stopped, speaking with tears clogging her throat and stealing her breath, and through it all Cullen held her. When her breath and will ran out, he quoted, light as a butterfly's touch on her ears, "The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises."

Cassandra buried her face in his solid, unyielding chest and hugged him with all of the strength she possessed. He still smelled as she remembered, of spice and war, and she wept again to be so comforted by him. He rested his chin on her head and wrapped the Chants around her like a blanket as she drifted away on a sea of her own making.

* * *

She woke when the Chantry bells floated into her hearing once more. One. Two. Three. Four. An hour of her life gone to grief, and yet she felt strangely light. Hollow. The well within her was dry, and perhaps Cassandra could be found once more.

There was no laughter on the wind, this time, no spirit to speak in her mother's voice, but she could still hear the gentle thudding of Cullen's heart underneath her. She waited a long minute, enjoying the sensation, before stirring to let him know she was aware.

His grip tightened and stilled her, and he stroked her arm with his fingertips. Only when she struggled back to look at his face did he let her go. His eyes were serious and worried, but she saw a spark of humor in them as he said, "There were no bears."

"Fortunate," she said, and she coughed away the rust in her voice. "I usually attract them."

Cullen smiled and wiped the pad of his thumb across her dry cheek. "We should go back," he said. "Are you able to ride?"

A wave of panic rose within her, but it wasn't so strong as it had been. She still didn't know what she would tell the Divine, but it was clear she would have to tell her something. Leaving was no longer a choice.

He misinterpreted her fear. "You can ride behind me," he said. "We'll lead your horse back."

Cassandra looked at the charger doubtfully. "I would not ask him to carry so much. I can ride."

And she did, but less surely than she'd thought. Her mind was dizzy, prone to floating away, and she wondered if it was too little sleep or too much that made her so fogged. She wondered if it was fear. She wondered if it was Cullen's arms, Cullen's breath, Cullen's voice. His own mount as close as he could get it, watching and protecting her, even from herself. He gave her water, and he gave her strength.

When they reached the stables she dismounted gratefully, and Cullen led her through the town under his arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She tried not to notice the interested looks that followed them. To her surprise he led her to Justinia's audience chamber, then tucked her into a dark corner. "Wait here," he said quietly. "I'll be right back. I promise."

She nodded wearily and slumped against the wall as he vanished. The door to the chamber opened, and she realized vaguely that he hadn't even knocked. Shocked and offended noises came out into the hall, but she heard snatches of Cullen's Commander voice interspersed between them.

"Cassandra needs to see you," she heard, and she sidled deeper into the shadows. She did need to. That didn't mean she wanted to.

Eventually two expensively dressed Antivans bustled past her, muttering to themselves, but fortunately they didn't notice her. Cullen crept out behind them and gathered her to him once more, tugging her gently into the chamber.

Justinia stood in front of her throne, waiting, but when she saw Cassandra she immediately clucked like a mother hen and moved to a worn, shabby chair in the corner. She shooed a cat out of its depths and sat, then gestured for her to approach.

She did, on slow and timid feet, and when she reached the Divine she sank to her knees and laid her head on the woman's knee, as though she was a frightened child instead of the Right Hand. "I need to make my confession," she whispered, and though she'd felt so dry she might never cry again, another tear slipped out to pool on the holy woman's white robes. The splotch it left was lonely and sad, and Cassandra felt a strange kinship with it.

"I will hear it, my daughter," said Justinia. She looked over to Cullen, and Cassandra followed her eyes.

He was leaning over a low table, writing something on a folded page, and when he was done he straightened and touched it with a single finger. "I'll be in the training yard," he said.

"Leliana," said Cassandra. "Please."

"Of course."

He was gone before she could give her thanks, and she felt the lost opportunity. Another thing to confess.

Justinia stroked her hair and lulled her into peace until the bard opened the door and took in the scene in front of her. She made no comment, only closed the door and locked it behind her before crossing the room to kneel as well. She took Cassandra's hand in her own and said, "I was told you wished to speak to me."

"I'm so sorry," said Cassandra, and another tear joined its brother. "I've missed you. I deserve no forgiveness, but I ask it anyway."

Leliana sighed and squeezed her hand gently. "You're my sister, Cassandra. You will always have my forgiveness, even before my anger has a chance to form. I shouldn't have hidden it so cruelly. There is fault enough for us both."

"There is no fault for you," said Cassandra fiercely. "I was selfish and arrogant, and I spurned all your help. Your kindness. I mocked it. I -"

Leliana shushed her with a kiss on the forehead. "Peace. You are forgiven."

"Will you give your confession now?" asked Justinia above them, and Cassandra nodded slowly.

With her spiritual mother's hand running over her head and her heart's sister watching her with kind eyes, she began to speak.

* * *

It was a long time before she fell silent, for she had sinned for a long time. She told of the men she'd enjoyed, some with true understanding of her nature, but others without, and how she'd ignored them both. She spoke the true story of Cullen, and the wounds she'd given him through lies and deception. She kept his own secrets close to her heart, though from Justinia's expression, he'd already made his own confessions. She recounted the times she'd seen a truth and ignored it, or let a lie stand because it was easy. She trembled when she confessed again the selfish anger that had made her lash out at the friends she should have protected most, and her ingratitude for everything that everyone gave her. She was Hawke, taking all and giving nothing, and expecting it as her right.

She even confessed the unnecessary violence she'd employed against James, simply to assuage her own feelings. Leliana snorted lightly at that, muttering that she would have broken all of his fingers, and Cassandra found her first smile that day.

But Anders was harder, and Hawke, and when she confessed the choice she'd made about them, both women looked grave. She admitted that she'd been so quick to decide because she hadn't wanted them to disagree, as she knew they would. She admitted that she'd done it for a man who pleaded in a voice she would never be able to ignore. She admitted she was weak.

That was when she stopped speaking, and she dropped her eyes, waiting for their response. Justinia was not bound to absolve all sins, and even if she did she was certainly not bound to keep her at her side.

The silence stretched and stretched until she felt as though she would break. Eventually Justinia sighed. "You have done a difficult thing, Cassandra."

Cassandra looked up, and the Divine looked older than she ever had, but she wasn't condemning. Leliana was flushed with anger, but she nodded alongside the Most Holy.

"I don't understand," said Cassandra. "I should have imprisoned him. Executed him."

"By justice, perhaps," said Justinia. "Perhaps even by the Maker's law. But the needs of the world are often not so easily aligned with His."

"I would have killed him," said Leliana. "He desecrated everything I hold dear, and he wouldn't have lived to see nightfall. That would have been right. But also wrong." She clenched her fists. "Would I have killed Hawke, if she tried to stop me? Cullen, if he protested? A guard that wandered past, a citizen in the wrong place? Where would the killing have ended? It would have been no better. It might have been much worse."

Cassandra looked at their still-linked fingers. "You would have ended it where it was needed. You see the lines that cannot be crossed."

Leliana laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I do not see them. I make them, and then change the world so that they were there all along. This is useful but not always right."

"Your actions anger me, as do the mage's, as a leader of the holy women and men who were sacrificed needlessly," said Justinia. "But anger is no more useful than love for guiding a decision. Perhaps it is less. And in the meantime you have bought us a time of much-needed quiet, and the potential gratitude of one whose voice carries influence with those we need to bring to peace. His death would have served only ghosts. The living needed your choice."

Cassandra blinked slowly. "You're not dismissing me?"

"No," said Justinia with a small smile. "Not when you've shown yourself to be more than equal to the task of Inquisitor."

"I can't," said Cassandra automatically, and Leliana rolled her eyes.

"You can. We've been discussing it quite a bit. Hawke was a mess, and if she somehow got you to like her while she flirted with Cullen at the same time, she was too dangerous to lead a revolution. Even without her mage sympathies," said the bard. "You will do well."

Cassandra stared at her. "My heart is governed by a self that is not my own. That is surely no less dangerous."

"It is when you rule over his as well," said Leliana, standing gracefully. "He asked me to make sure I gave this to you before I left." She'd picked up the paper on the table and held it out like a lure, dangling high above Cassandra's head.

"What is it?"

"Parchment," said Leliana smugly.

When Cassandra stood to grab at it, the bard danced back easily, and they spent several minutes in chase before Cassandra finally caught hold of the prize. But she didn't look at it right away, instead stepping closer to see her friend's face. Leliana was still angry at the lost opportunity, about Anders' still-beating heart. That was clear, but she was also doing this to show that the anger was the least part of their bond.

"You are a good friend," said Cassandra. "Better than I deserve."

"I know," said Leliana with a smile. "You would all be lost without me."

"You should speak to Aedan." Cassandra was pushing her luck, she knew, but there would never be a better time. "He would welcome your conversation."

Leliana looked away and bit her lip. "Perhaps. But it would do no good."

"It would."

"It would not. I cannot be his mistress forever. We are trying to save the world, remember?" said Leliana with forced cheer.

Cassandra smiled. "I can save the world and you at the same time."

Leliana stuck out her tongue, but she laughed more genuinely as she danced out of the room. Justinia followed her slowly, and when the door was closed Cassandra looked at the terrifying parchment in her hand.

She frowned. It was her own writing. She opened its folds and read:

 _Cullen,_

 _We are on the road to Haven, and it is long and treacherous. I did not think it so when we made the first journey, but that is because I did not know what it was to know you and to feel your absence. It is difficult to be alone, here. Your notes have been a great comfort, and I write you this in the hopes that it can do the same in turn. I hope it will keep me as strongly in your mind as you are in mine. I fear I may already be fading, lost in the moments of your day that will have no mention of me. When I wake in the night, I sometimes believe you will not come at all. I do not know that I could bear it._

 _Please hurry. But be careful, as well. Walk in the steps of the Maker, and let Him guide you to me safely. I pray for this each night, and I pray it once more over these pages in holy petition. May His will be done._

 _Leliana has taken to impressions of those we've left behind in Kirkwall, and her Varric is particularly accurate…_

The letter went on, but the words blurred as the tears formed again. She remembered writing this at the foot of the mountains and sending it behind her, a loosed arrow that was her answer to his own kindnesses. And her way of keeping herself present for him, if she could. Every word has poured out of her unbidden, and it hurt to recall how achingly lost she'd felt without him.

She'd thought it wouldn't reach him before he left. Obviously she'd been wrong, and he had received it. She wondered what he'd felt about it then, before he'd learned of her treacherous life. Had it made him happy?

Why would he return it to her now? Was this the end he'd spoken of in his sleepy haze?

She flipped it over absently, blinking away the film from her eyes, and she paused when she saw the post markings on it. Kirkwall, yes, but also the markings of the Haven mail carriers. The city proper, not the other mountain villages. But perhaps they had been made from her own mailing.

Cassandra peered at them more closely. No. They were fresh. Only made recently.

She sat with a thump in Justinia's vacated chair, barely hearing the annoyed hiss of the approaching cat. Cats were less important than understanding. She thought deeply, trying not to rush ahead as she always did. The letter hadn't reached him in Kirkwall. It had arrived there too late and been returned, now, to this place. A preservation of her fears, delivered to him weeks after they mattered. Still too late, and now an embarrassing memory of her own foolishness.

Then Cassandra looked at the letter once more. Her heart skipped a beat at a new addition to the bottom of the page, written in familiar, slanting script.

 _You will never fade. You carry my heart with you, always._

 _I love you, too_.


	21. The Things That Are Right

Haven was dining when she exited the Chantry. People crowded around dotted campfires and huddled under torches. They spilled out into the streets and laughed with one another in endless, babbling sound. The sight was electric, all of this life that was happy. Happy here.

Cassandra wanted to be a part of it.

She made her way to the longhouse where she usually dined, filling her plate with whatever was at hand. When she turned back to face the crowd, it parted like a curtain to reveal a table of Kirkwall Templars. Cullen sat with them, tall and beautiful, and she felt suddenly shy, unsure of how to proceed. His words were burned into her, coursing through her blood, but that didn't mean she was any different than she'd ever been. And she had never known how to be in love, only how to fall.

As she watched, the man sitting on the bench alongside Cullen stood, and the empty space beckoned. She squared her shoulders. She would be brave.

The room seemed long and full of obstacles, but eventually she made her way to her goal and the place was still free. Cassandra slid into it without a word, her stomach twisting quietly.

Cullen didn't acknowledge her. He continued speaking to his men, telling a story of the time one of them had been so drunk she'd punched a pole thinking it was laughing at her, and Cassandra stared down at the table. Varric was with them as well, and he caught her eye and gave her a quick thumbs up. She hoped she deserved it.

And then Cullen shifted, almost imperceptibly, in the middle of a sentence, until his leg was pressed against hers under the table. He never paused, and he never looked at her, but she relaxed, just a little, and returned the pressure. She asked Varric a question about his novels, and she fell into conversation with one side of the table while Cullen took the other. All the while she felt the heat passing between the place they touched. Her heart passed through as well, a slow and steady beat, and she wondered if he could feel his returning, too. If they were coming home.

While she was still eating, Cullen stood to leave. He said he had to meet with some of the mercenaries who'd come to the Conclave, and he bid them all goodnight. When he did, his eyes swept around the table in an easy circle, until they rested, finally, on her face. "Good night," he said again, and he smiled softly before he left.

Varric applauded when Cullen was gone, and she couldn't even feel annoyed.

* * *

The next morning she took the early benediction, and she stood on the dais and waited for the congregation to finish their welcoming prayers as she always did. There were hundreds here, now, gathered at Justinia's call, and her eyes wandered over them as she prepared her words.

Her gaze arrested on a blond, bowed head in the front row of the chapel.

As though he felt her, Cullen's head lifted, and he stared at her with the solemn face of a proper Andrastian petitioner. Only the twinkle of laughter in his eyes betrayed him, and she couldn't stop an altogether inappropriate grin from her lips before she banished it. The congregation eventually raised their faces to her, and she raised an arm in turn.

"There was no word for heaven or earth, for sea or sky. All that existed was silence…"

She flew through the Canticle with hardly a pause, perfect in every word. But she remembered none of it when she finished. She only remembered the amazed, lovely wonder on his face.

* * *

They ate lunch in the training yard and talked between his barked orders at the trainees. By silent agreement they talked of nothing of consequence, nothing of love or desire, but there were thousands of other things to learn and examine, and they started in on them easily. He scolded her for every laugh she drew out of him, claiming it would ruin his authority in front of his men, but he didn't send her away.

Not until he'd startled an answering laugh out of her, an unrestrained noise that cut through the yard as easily as their blades through the air. A handful of the younger men turned to gape at her. She wondered if she looked as incandescent as she felt.

Apparently she did, because Cullen stood and glared at them all. "If you allow your head to be turned on the battlefield by a beautiful woman, you'll soon lose it," he said severely. "Do you think an enemy can't be lovely? Focus!"

Cassandra rose next to him as the recruits and veterans all redoubled their efforts. He turned to her with a look of affectionate exasperation, and she offered a contrite lowering of her eyes which she knew fooled him not at all. She glanced back up just in time to see his mouth twitch. "You, leave," he said. "You're distracting the troops."

"The troops? Or the Commander?" she asked.

"You don't need to be here to distract me," he said in a low voice, and she reached out to squeeze his hand, once. He returned it, then drew his brow down with deliberate sternness. "Go."

"Yes ser," she said, and she walked away with the pleasant feeling of his gaze boring into her back.

* * *

The Conclave was delayed when an early snow came to Haven. The mountains stole summer away in a minute and replaced it with a dusting of white powder that fell from the sky in fat, lazy flakes. Cassandra emerged from her tent with a broad smile on her face. She stood in the courtyard with her arms splayed wide while the rest of the village scurried to shelter.

She opened her eyes at a harrumphing cough. Cullen was watching her with his arms folded, one eyebrow raised. "You realize that most people try to get away from storms?"

"We had no snow in Nevarra," she explained. "It has not lost its magic, for me." She tilted her head back and caught a drifting, dancing flake on her tongue. "The Maker's creations are wondrous."

Cullen laughed. "We had a lot of snow in Ferelden. To a young boy stuck in his house with no amusements, snow loses its wonder very quickly," he said. She smiled, and he returned it. "Nevertheless, I'm starting to gain a new appreciation for its beauty."

Cullen stepped closer to her as she caught another flake, challenging him with her eyes. He tried to do the same, but he had no instinct for it. He chased flakes that flew away on winds that never seemed to catch for her, and she could sense his growing frustration.

"This shouldn't be so difficult," he growled, and she chuckled, unwisely.

Cullen looked down at her with a new focus, then a smirk crossed his face. When another flake hit her cheek, he darted down and kissed it from her skin before it could melt away.

She gasped, and he pulled away just enough for speech. "That was much better," he murmured, and he tasted her once more, this time on her exposed jaw. The tip of his tongue darted out to run along the bone before he stopped and examined her with his eyes once more.

Her eyelashes were heavy with snow, and it made him shine in her vision. "You cheated," she said accusingly, and she tilted her head back further as she wound a hand around his neck. While he watched, she parted her lips, and he sighed and took the invitation.

She didn't know how long they kissed, standing the center of the whirling snow with their arms wrapped around each other. Long enough to feel the chill, and for her to burrow closer to his delicious, ever-present warmth. His mouth was even hotter, a blazing invitation, but it lacked the desperation and fear that he'd always shown before. Now it was pure bliss, joy without ceasing, as their tongues swept into mouths, their lips touched skin, and they whispered sweet sounds into the world.

They no longer kissed like they would disappear. They kissed like they were found.

* * *

She walked into the armory, after the storm was passed, to find Cullen patiently leaning over a table. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and the way his tongue stuck slightly out of the corner of his mouth - the corner with the scar - was captivating.

But eventually her curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "Is that a bear fur?"

He looked up, startled, then smiled. "Yes. The Templars ran into a pair on a scouting patrol, and this was part of their prize. I requisitioned it."

"To do what?"

Cullen gestured at the workbench importantly, and she stared at the needles and thread and leathers strewn across it. "You are stitching a cloak with a bear on top of it? I wasn't aware you were a seamstress. Are there not workers who could do this for you?"

He scowled. "I'll do it better."

A woman called out from a nearby anvil, "None of us wanted to be responsible for something so ugly."

Cassandra smothered a laugh as his scowl deepened. "Is it for me?" she asked when she was in command of herself again.

" You princesses are so greedy," he said with a reprimanding shake of his head, and she elbowed him. "It's for me. That training area is getting cold." He grinned, then. "Plus, this way, you'll have no choice but to huddle against me when you're there."

She never wore clothing adequate enough to suit him, but as a good commander should, he'd apparently considered how to turn a weakness to his advantage. She tipped her head at him, and he accept the congratulations. "But won't that distract your troops?" she asked innocently.

"They need to learn sometime," he said, kissing her quickly before pointing her to the door.

* * *

When he modeled the finished product, she had to summon all of her training to keep from laughing. Cullen was always gorgeous, with his strong brow, full lips, and ever-present scruff, but the fur looked less bear-like and more like feathers atop the leather. She smiled to cover her amusement. "Wonderfully done," she said.

He blushed and ducked his head. "It looks utterly ridiculous. But it is very warm."

"I'll have to see for myself." She stepped into the circle of his arms and leaned into the cool, golden armor he'd taken to wearing. To distance himself from the Templars, she suspected. "Mmm. It is very warm," she said.

Cullen kissed the top of her head. "You need to move back into the Chantry," he said, and she frowned against him.

"There is no room for me," she said. "My shelter is quite well-shielded from the weather."

"You can have your room back. I'll sleep in the Templar camp."

"Then you will be cold," she said. "Whereas I am currently not cold in the least." She twisted away from the half-truth, knowing that she'd woken up more than once in the morning shivering. But it had never been even close to unbearable.

He growled. "Then I'll sleep on the floor, at the foot of the bed. Or in the hallway. But I don't like you out here, Cassandra."

She leaned back to look at him. "I like the pace of us," she said, and his eyes grew alarmed. They'd still never spoken of what was happening between them, focusing on rebuilding their bonds before they examined them, and she didn't want to start now. But it was important that he understood. "We cannot sleep in the same room. I'm fine. I will tell you when I am not."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"Very well," he said. A touch of light entered his face, and he said, "And my motive wasn't entirely pure. The pillows no longer smell like you."

She blushed, remembering her own reaction to the bed, and he stroked her cheek slowly. "Fortunately my cloak soon will," he said, tightening his remaining grip. "And I'll be in it much more often than my bed. And you'll be in it often as well. Like you said, bears are very attracted to you."

* * *

That night, when Cassandra crawled into her tent, she saw a new pile of blankets stacked next to her bedroll, and her pillow had been replaced by another. She raised it to her face and breathed in the scent of Cullen, masculine and overwhelming. She slept with a smile on her face and felt no chill at all.

* * *

Cullen pulled her aside after a meeting with Justinia into a little used room in the Chantry. While she waited, he reached his hand into a pouch at his waist and drew out a small, silver hairpin with delicate etchings. "This is yours," he said quietly.

She was dumbfounded. "How did you find it?"

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Let's just say that storage shed is much better organized now."

Cassandra laughed, but it was nervous, and she reached for the ornament in his hand with agonizing slowness. The air between them had suddenly become more solid, harder to fight through, and when she was a few inches away her hand stopped entirely. There was so much pain in that pin, underneath the happiness. She could still remember the ugly look on his face when he'd grabbed it away from her and tossed it aside. Like he would never care to find it again.

Only he had. But she still couldn't touch it.

She looked up into his eyes, heavy with understanding, and she tried to smile. "According to sword lore, it's yours. You bled on it," she said.

Cullen promptly closed his fist and raised it to the crown of his hair, thrusting what he held in with inexpert aim. When he lowered his arm, the pin glinted in the center of his golden waves at a ludicrous angle, looking more like the detritus of a windy day than a decoration. "How does it look?"

His smile was proud and preening, and she giggled wildly as he posed carefully for her examination. As soon as her fingers touched her lips to stifle her laughter, he lunged forward and pulled her in for a searing kiss. He caught her mid-giggle, turning it into a surprised moan that seemed to embolden him. He clenched his fingers tightly around her hips as he drew her in more closely. It was meant to keep a modicum of space between them, a small part of her brain knew, but she wasn't sure if he understood how much heat that firm grip was pooling in her belly.

Eventually it was too much, the slide of his mouth over hers, the wet and needy noises that their lips made as they warred, and she shoved him back against the closest wall and pinned him in earnest. Her lips worked down the column of his neck, nipping and biting at the pulse that beat so strongly there.

"Cassandra," he whispered, his voice already ragged with need.

She shuddered at the blessing of her name in his rough baritone, a sound she craved more than she'd known. She shoved her hips against him to feel his rising hardness and sucked at his skin earnestly as he groaned. When she switched to the other side his hips jerked up into hers, and it was her turn to gasp. He drew her head up and fastened his lips to hers again while his hands moved over her body to cup her and pull her more flush to him. Her tongue traced the line of his scar that she'd memorized. He drank in each moan she made as if it was the only thing keeping him alive, and she felt her desire flaming every nerve in her body.

She pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and watched his eyes turn black as the night.

"I've missed you," she said when she released him, and he nodded so quickly it was almost comical. She reached down between their legs to brush his cock, and he whimpered.

"No," he said through a clenched jaw. "No, it's too far. I'm sorry. I know you want to move slowly. I do, too. I'm trying. It's just… you're so beautiful. And I remember…"

"I do, too," she said, and she stepped back with effort. Cullen's beautiful eyes were screwed shut, breathing in a meditation pattern she recognized from Templar training. She leaned up to kiss him once more, but this time it was sweet and tender, and he relaxed as she followed the pattern of the breaths into his mouth. As she did, she felt his hands in her hair, and when she finished he smiled down at her.

Her hand went to her braid, and she felt the familiar presence of that silver pin. The one that had been Cullen when there was no Cullen to be had.

She blinked away a tear, and Cullen pressed his forehead against her own. "It's yours," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. "Just like I am."

"But I am also yours," she whispered back.

Another kiss, soft as a raindrop. "Then we'll be each others'."

* * *

They planned an ambush.

Cullen guided Leliana into a small meeting room to discuss troop business, while Cassandra found Aedan speaking to a knot of nobles in the Chantry courtyard. She curtsied prettily, which made him suspicious, and told him that the Divine needed to speak to him. He didn't believe her, it was obvious, but he couldn't risk the possibility, so he followed her into the building. "Is this a surprise birthday party?" he asked.

"Is it your birthday?"

"No," he said. "It's not for months. But people sometimes like to get at the front of the queue."

"I'll make a note," she said before she reached the room and pushed open the door.

Aedan gasped beside her, and Cassandra wondered too late if they'd been alone together at all since she'd broken them with careless words. From Leliana's carefully shaded face, it didn't look like it.

But the ambush went off as planned. Cullen sprang to the door as she shoved Aedan inside. "Tell each other your truth," she said. "The feelings neither one of you show."

Cullen pulled the door shut before they could answer. "Tell her you wanted to marry her," he yelled through the door, and Leliana yelped in protest. Cullen didn't answer, locking the door and taking the rope she handed him.

"We're both rogues," said Aedan. "What makes you think you can keep us in a locked room?"

"Warriors' strength," answered Cassandra, and together she and Cullen tied the knots on the doorknob to a nearby statue while one of their victims fiddled with the lock. By the time they got it open, the door was well and truly stuck.

"We'll be back in an hour," said Cullen.

"Or two," added Cassandra.

They walked away hand-in-hand and told the guards to leave the hallway unpatrolled until they returned. And when they did, the pleased sounds coming from inside of the room meant the two conspirators gave them another full hour together, alone.

* * *

Cullen remained endearingly shy of intimacy in the Chantry, though he kissed her as often as she desired no matter where they were. She was reading curled up in her tent one afternoon when he slipped inside its folds and without his armor, nudging her out of the way as he wiggled under her blankets.

"This place still isn't warm enough for you," he grumbled.

She laid her book aside and raised up on her elbow to look down at him. "It is now."

His scar was beckoning temptingly, a reminder of a time they'd been partners against the enemy that was her past, and she kissed it softly as she always did. He relaxed back into the pillows, and they spent some time that way, her lips roving over him, his catching hers whenever they were close enough. Slowly his irritation drained as he let her set the pace.

"How are the mages?" she asked. She explored his temple, her hand kneading the tight muscles of his shoulders.

"Mmm, that feels good," he said in a faraway voice. It was another minute before he continued. "We've located all of them. Now that we know where to look, the network is getting clearer, but Leliana's spies haven't seen any aggressive activity from them. It's always a risk, but I don't think anything is being planned for the Conclave. Not from them."

Cassandra hummed and slid her hand down, catching the hem of his shirt and drawing it up under the blanket. She kissed his lips again as she touched the hard muscles of his stomach, playing her hand eagerly over each valley. He opened his mouth to her, grazing her lips with feather-light touches of his tongue, then flexed his body in a way that had her laughing into him.

He did it again, and she pushed back against the tense muscles more firmly, until he let her "win" the battle. "You're gorgeous even when I can't see you," she said. She lifted the blanket, briefly, to admire the view, and her gaze caught on the waistband that had slipped down on his hips. Before thought could guide her, before it even entered her mind, she lowered the blanket and moved her hand to the tie of his pants.

She watched his face as he did, and there were a few nerves but mostly there was desire. After patient minutes of working blind, she finally slipped her hand inside the fabric, underneath his smalls, and ran her fingers over the interested cock that waited.

Cullen closed his eyes as soon as she did, groaning low in his throat. "Nothing you don't want," he whispered, and she nodded against his jaw as she nuzzled him. He sighed. "You feel much better than my own hand."

"I should hope so," she said. "Otherwise I'll be rather useless in this relationship."

He smiled and lifted his hand to circle her back. "I have many uses for you."

She licked at his jaw and set to teasing him to full hardness. Her hand worked in the way she knew he liked, slow then quick, slight turns and stutters before moving back in earnest. Soon he was panting, his hips lifting off the ground to meet her, and he reached down to pull his shirt over his head.

Cassandra kissed his newly exposed chest as she worked, moving the blankets down to reveal new stretches of skin. He growled and pulled her back up to his mouth. "Not for that," he mumbled against her. "For the mess."

She submitted to what he wanted, kissing him with a new fervor. He thrust into her hand, harder and more erratically, but still he held off. She snarled at him for his obstinacy, and he laughed weakly even as he moaned. "I don't want to," he said. "Not yet."

Her lips moved to his ear. "Yes, Cullen. Now," she said. He tensed and his cock had never felt so hard in her hand. "Cullen, my heart. My everything. I love you so much."

And then he crested with a shout, spilling across her hand and his stomach in shuddering waves. He'd barely finished before he wanted her mouth on his again, and this time the kiss was a mix of heated and worshipful.

When he finally came down from the heights his mind explored, he leaned back and looked at her with tear-filled eyes. "Are you sure?"

She ran her clean hand through his hair. "Only the Maker is more certain in this world."

* * *

Cassandra performed another marriage ceremony. It was unofficial and incomplete in the bard's room, but Aedan's adoration and Leliana's melting joy as they spoke their words of devotion were touching enough to make it feel true. Aedan had a wife, and a country, and soon he would have a child, and he loved them all as his family. But Leliana was his life's passion.

As for Leliana, she was beautiful under his eyes, and when she sang the wedding Chant, high and sweet, they all wept.

* * *

"I have no understanding of how to love you," said Cassandra one night as they lounged together on a couch in Justinia's office. His feet were in her lap, and she rubbed them soothingly as a fire warmed them.

Cullen looked up from the report he was reading and frowned. "It isn't something that requires understanding," he said. "You love me, and you do it well. And I love you, very much."

She smiled a little, touched as always by his easy regard, but she wouldn't be turned aside from her thoughts. "I do love you, and I am glad you're satisfied with my efforts, but it's not so simple as that. There are kinds of love, flavors, and I do not understand which ones are right," she said. "I have never been like this, with a man, before."

Cullen said nothing, and she appreciated that he gave her the space to speak.

"Should I try to love like my parents? They cared for each other more than anything, maybe too much. Did their love lead to revolution? To death and abandonment? My mother was right about my nature, but she was wrong about about hers, I think. Or perhaps I should be like Leliana and Aedan, sweet and passionate and unashamed, but also hidden away from others' eyes? Hawke and Anders love deeply, but its fluid and moving and they've constructed it around a poisoned center. And Andraste gave everything for her Maker, and she burned in the end." Cassandra stopped her hand's movement. "Those are the only loves I know, beyond my own meager definition of the thing. Passion and sex and fear. And now there is you, who I wish to please in every way, and I have nothing to guide me."

She finally looked at him, and his face was thoughtful. "I would never forgive myself if I did this wrong," she said. "You deserve a love that is confident and sure. And I am confident that I love you beyond measure, but there is little else to be sure about."

He swung his legs down and set aside his papers before scooting down the couch to be closer to her. To her vague surprise, he didn't take her in his arms, only faced her with one hand on her knee. The other touched the pin in her hair, as they always did when he was uncertain, and she looked away from what he had to say.

"My parents were the best sort of parents I could have asked for," he said. "They loved me and my siblings so much that we never even thought about it. To remember it now, it was like being a fish trying to understand the concept of water. It was simply there, and it was all there was. But they loved each other as well. Our farmhouse wasn't large, and my siblings and I soon learned to leave the house when certain noises were heard from their room. To save everyone the embarrassment."

She snorted and looked back at him, and to her delight he was blushing faintly in the fire's glow. "But there were other moments. They would wash the dishes together, after meals, while we children raced through our own chores in contest. And my mother would sing the same song she always did, about a mouse and his wife who lived in a house and they danced and sang all the day. It was an old song from her home, in the Bannorn, and they made a little show of it. Whenever she sang about the mouse, my father would bow and kiss her cheek. And when she sang of the wife, she flared out her apron like a skirt and swayed. And when she sang of dancing, they stopped and danced like a gentry couple, one circle, right in the kitchen.

"That's how I always think of them now. They died in the Blight, my sister told me, saving the rest. They were braver than I realized."

Cassandra thought to herself, _You are made from them. Of course they were brave._

But she said nothing, and he continued. "They were the a beautiful love. And they let me go to the Templars without argument. They gave their children anything they really needed, and they knew I needed that. Even with the pain that the service brought me, it wasn't all bad. I may have even done some good, somewhere. And of course, without it I might never have found you," he said. A smile rose to his face, and she stopped breathing at the love that lit him.

"I do not know any songs about mice," she said.

He laughed and cupped her cheek in his hand. "That's fine. I don't want you to be my mother, though you do remind me of her in many ways. She was soft as a snowbank when she was happy and hard as ice when she was upset. And she was fierce, and beautiful, and she worried so much about small things that sometimes she became lost in her own mind."

Cassandra flushed. "I do not do that."

"You do," said Cullen. "I love you for it, because it shows how much you care about me. You don't need an example to know how to love. You're naturally good at it. I feel it every day. And someday we'll have our own rituals that tell the world, and ourselves, that we will never break."

"You think you will want me so long?" Cassandra tried to make a joke out of it, but she knew her voice betrayed her.

He dropped his hand and gripped hers tightly. "I nearly asked you to marry me a dozen times in Kirkwall. Even when I knew it was too fast and too much, that it would terrify any woman, I wanted it. After you first kissed me. That first night I loved you, in the middle of my passion. When you told me about Anthony, and when I told you about Kinloch. Other times. I knew what I wanted. I still know. You're sitting right here," he said. He bit his lip. "I'm glad I didn't broach the topic, now. I knew you were cautious, but I didn't understand the pain you were in. I didn't try to find out. My own needs were too strong, and my own fear that if I pushed I would only find some reason that you couldn't love me after all too vast. And that cowardice hurt you when I got here."

Cassandra opened her mouth to tell him that it was hardly his fault they'd fought, but he gave her a meaningful look and she closed it. "Don't say it," he said. "Your past surprised me, but it was my present that wounded us. Well, that and your natural honesty. I wish I'd thought to ask you different questions, in the shed."

They sat in silence for a time, his fingers running over her knuckles as she thought. At last she said, "Your parents sound wonderful. But they are still your example. I have none for myself. Be patient with me, please. I may not always do this well."

He kissed her then, slowly and surely, and she melted into his warm regard. "You will," he said when he pulled back. "We'll fight, sometimes, or misunderstand one another. That's how life works. But I know you'll always love me well, as long as you wish to love me."

"I always will."

Cullen smiled and kissed her again, and they stretched out on the couch and comforted each other as the fire died down. Between kisses he told more stories of his parents, and of himself, and he recounted every story of how Cassandra had captured his heart. When it was down to only embers, and the reports were still forgotten on the floor, he finally pulled her up. "Don't go outside," he said. "Stay in here, with me. Nothing will happen, I just want to hold you."

She thought she might feel nervous, afraid she was falling back into old patterns of lust and passion, but she didn't. She just felt sleepy and warm, so she nodded slowly. They walked down the halls in complete harmony, and when they reached his door she stopped him and gave him one last kiss.

"I realize now that I do have an example of love," she said. "I have you."

* * *

Something did happen. Cullen only held her, as he promised, but when she woke in the dark, in depths of his arms, she wanted him more than she ever had. It wasn't lust or passion but pure, blazing love, and the need to express it was overwhelming and right.

He woke slowly to her kisses, to her hands on his body and fumbling at his clothes. He joined her in her own, still hazy and confused, but his mouth wasn't hazy as she claimed it for her own, and he was hard and ready under her hands.

"Is this a dream?" he asked once, a touch of fear in his voice.

"No," she said. "You are awake." She bit and tugged at the lobe of his ear to make him groan. "I can stab you with my hairpin if it will help."

"Don't you dare," he whispered, and those were the last words they spoke with any coherence. She touched him everywhere she could reach, until he was panting and begging for her. He didn't try to be dominant, this night, and she was glad. She wanted to be the one who gave him pleasure.

When she finally lowered herself onto him, his sleep-filled eyes were heavy on her face, and he gripped her hips to keep her still. He never said a word, and neither did she, but she felt it thickening in the air around them. Like fish in water. Love.

By the time they were done and she was drifting back to sleep with her hands tracing circles on his skin, she knew she would lose any amount of sleep to love this man.

* * *

In the morning she sneaked outside and gathered her things, folding the tent easily and returning it to the Templar quartermaster before padding back into the Chantry. She was back before he'd even cracked an eye, but he stirred as she put her clothes away and left her personal effects on the tables. She noted with a touch of amusement that he'd left empty spaces for her, putting his own things far to the side so that she would have a place to use.

Cassandra inhaled sharply as his arms circled her waist as she stood in front of the dresser. He rested his head on her shoulder and kissed her neck lightly. "Good morning," he said. "You've been busy."

"I hope it's okay."

"It's more than okay," he said. His lips went to her skin repeatedly, and she leaned against him to enjoy the sensation. His hands were busy as well, stroking over her thick winter clothes as though they weren't there.

Or as though he didn't want them to be. She spun around to look at him, and his eyes were blown wide with lust. It was a perfect accompaniment to his usual morning look, disheveled and bleary, with his hair sleep-tousled and the burgeoning beard on his jaw long and scruffy. Cassandra looked down and saw how hard he was, but that wasn't the first thing that caught her attention. "You should be wearing pants," she said.

He gave her a baffled look, and she laughed. "Only because I like the way you look in them. The line of the band over your hips, and the way I know what will be waiting if I reach past it… it is a lovely sight," she said. "But no shirt. Never any shirt."

Cullen laughed, but it was tense instead of his usual light chuckle. "I promise. But for now, I don't know if I can wear any pants, because I want you to come back to bed and take off all of that ridiculous clothing."

So she did, and with barely controlled desire he took the lead in a way that had her clutching at the sheets and biting back screams. But afterward, to her amusement, he stood and pulled on a pair of sleep pants with a grin. He modeled for her as she made appreciative noises, then moved over to the dressing table where she'd placed her things.

He watched her carefully as he slowly picked them up, along with his own, and placed them in new positions. When he was finished they were arranged in such a way that they were blended and mixed. Together.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she nodded. He came back to lay beside her, and they started the rest of their lives.


	22. The End

The Conclave was finally at hand, ready to start the next morning. Justinia was already at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, along with most of the dignitaries. To Cassandra there seemed to be more dignitaries than citizens of Thedas, but she greeted each new one with her most winning smile.

"You look like you're under torture," said Leliana out of the side of her mouth as they waved a group of Dalish elves through.

"I am."

Leliana rolled her eyes without moving them, an impressive feat. "You're saying hello to people."

"Exactly," said Cassandra with feeling. She looked across the town square, where Cullen was standing in his shiniest mail and looking intimidating. When he saw her staring, he lifted his gauntleted hand in a secret, finger-waggling wave.

The next delegation, a huddled group of mages from the Ostwick Circle, received a more genuine greeting from her than any so far.

Cassandra didn't want to be here. She'd argued that she belonged at the Divine's side as her strong Right Hand and Leliana could handle the niceties in Haven. Justinia had gently overruled her, saying that the possible Inquisitor must be seen, respected, and remembered. Privately, Cassandra thought that it would be better for the Inquisitor to be as obscure as possible, for her own protection.

The Divine couldn't be disobeyed, of course, and a group of Templars and Grey Wardens had taken her place as guards. Cullen had hand-picked the Templars, and Aedan had approved the Wardens. He'd accompanied them as well, but Justinia had ordered Cullen to remain in Haven in what Cassandra now realized was a bid to sweeten the enticement for her to stay behind. Annoyingly, it had worked.

She glanced at him again, mostly to enjoy the way the golden armor complemented his hair, but he was busy talking to a Qunari bodyguard and didn't have time to smile at her. Which was just as well. She was very seriously considering ordering him back to the Chantry to ravish her. It had been almost eight hours since she'd last kissed him, and that was far too long.

"Stop undressing him with your eyes," said Leliana. She smiled and bowed to the next knot of people, a group of dwarves that they shuttled over to Varric. Cassandra saw her signal _Carta_ to him, and he nodded. He was in charge of advance scouting for all underhanded dealers, given his experience with them. Given that he was essentially one of them.

"I would be happy to, if you will allow me to do so with my hands."

"Honestly, you two are enough to make a Blooming Rose worker blush," said Leliana, but she looked proud instead of shocked. "I heard you last night, you know. What exactly was he doing to you? It sounded athletic."

Cassandra flushed scarlet as she remembered the way he'd taken her against the wall, a bruisingly pleasurable experience and one that showed off his strength to perfection. "Nothing special."

"Of course. Well, I won't pry, but I prayed for you both this morning. Just in case you need forgiveness from the Maker."

"I will trip you here, in front of all of these people," said Cassandra through clenched teeth.

Leliana laughed, and several of the people streaming by laughed as well, in case there was something funny they should have understood. "I'm very good on my feet. And off of them, as Aedan has always known."

Cassandra couldn't stop her own smile, and they stood in companionable silence until the last of the new arrivals had passed. "Should we go up to the Temple?" asked Cassandra, watching the line crawl up the mountain face.

Leliana shrugged. "I'd rather sleep here, tonight. They'll already be stacked like firewood up there," she said.

"Yes," said Cassandra. "Justinia has invited too many. I do not like it."

"We've done our best for protection," said Cullen behind her, and she turned around to slide into his arms. "We'll have to trust to the Maker now."

"Did you check the mages that came through?" she asked.

"Yes."

"What about that Qunari? Any trouble with him?"

" _She_ was very amiable. From what I could tell. Most of the Qunari I've met were actively hostile, so that wasn't much of a baseline."

"And there was a man who looked nervous when he came through," she began, and he put a finger over her lips.

"He'd broken a piece off of a holy statue on the way in and was afraid we would put him in the dungeons," said Cullen. "Relax, love."

She fidgeted, then sighed. "I am worried."

"I know. You wouldn't make a good Inquisitor if you weren't."

Cassandra made a face as Leliana chuckled. "I am still praying the Maker intervenes and brings another candidate," she said. "I do not wish to lead."

"Well, even if He does, you'll always be the one I follow," said Cullen.

"And I'll never follow you," added Leliana with a grin.

Varric joined them. "I'm still waiting for cash compensation. You do realize that you haven't paid me a silver piece for all of my efforts here? A dwarf has to live," he said.

Cullen eyed him. "You're still my prisoner, actually."

Cassandra laughed as Varric gaped. "Prisoner? On what charge, Curly? What could the Templars possibly have against a dwarf merchant, adventurer, best-selling author, tremendous lover, barkeep, landlord, and all-around wonderful man?"

"You harbored an apostate."

"I - what? I did not!"

Cullen folded his arms. "You knew where Hawke was. She knew where Anders was. Transitive property," he said.

Varric fumed, and Leliana covered her giggle with her hand. "Look at it this way," she said. "You are not in a cell. And you will have many, many new sex scenes for your books."

The dwarf smiled. "They are pretty loud, aren't they?"

Cullen turned a shade of red that she was sure matched her own, and she burrowed her face under his furry, silly cloak as the dwarf and bard walked back toward the Chantry. The town was relatively empty, now, but there would be food waiting for them there. Leliana had also invited an Antivan noble who she wanted to interview that night for a position with the Chantry and its potential new venture. Cassandra hoped fervently the woman was a good diplomat.

But right now her fervent hopes were somewhere else entirely. "Are they gone?" she asked in a muffled voice.

He kissed the top of her head. "Yes," he said. When she looked up at him, he looked regretful as he pulled off his formal gauntlets behind her before tying them at his waist. "I apologize if I've embarrassed you."

Cassandra raised up on her tiptoes and threaded a hand through his hair, and he obliged her gently tug by kissing her sweetly on the mouth. When he pulled away, she followed him eagerly, and she felt him smile as she swept her tongue into his mouth. She pulled away after the kiss threatened to break her self-control and whispered, "I could never be embarrassed by you."

His eyes were still closed, and he ran his tongue over his upper lip as though he could taste her there. "I'm about to, I think," he murmured, and he dipped down to melt her once more. They stood entwined for a long time, long enough for the Chantry bell to ring again.

Cassandra laughed and stepped away, and she took his hand in her own. "I only fear that it means Justinia has also heard us," she said. "She has had a new twinkle in her eye recently."

Cullen paled so much that she gripped his arm to steady him. "The Maker is going to smite me," he said in a weak voice.

"He will do no such thing," said Cassandra. She leaned closer and breathed, "In truth, Justinia likely had more sex than either of us, in her day."

Cullen took his hand away and covered his ears. "Don't tell me things like that!" he said. "She's holy! She's… she's the Divine!"

He looked so ridiculous and stricken that she had to laugh. "You used to think I was holy," she said teasingly.

"Oh no," he said, a small smile on his face. "I only pretended to. You've never been anything but a very, very earthly woman to me."

She shivered, and he looked pleased. "Of course, if we are that loud, maybe James heard us, too. I certainly hope so."

"You cannot be jealous of him," said Cassandra, only half-joking.

A gust of wind blew through the town, and Cullen led her into the shelter of a building. "I'm not jealous," he said when they were hidden. "I just like to win."

Cassandra rolled her eyes and started to speak when he raised his hands. "I know. You are not a prize. You are Cassandra, and I'm blessed to even be allowed your presence," he said with an easy smile. "I am, you know. And I know that you make your own decisions."

She nodded firmly and settled into the curve of his side. She played with the fur that tickled her chin and asked quietly, "When did you know that you loved me instead of Hawke?"

He twisted to look down at her, and she didn't meet his eyes. "I never loved Hawke," he said.

She sighed. "Then when you chose me. Instead of her. Was it when she left?" It wouldn't change her feelings, but it would be disheartening to know that she had only won her own fake bout because her opponent had vacated the field.

Cullen sounded truly lost as he said, "There was no instead of her. There was you, and only you."

Cassandra snorted. "You were very close to her after you arrived. I had hurt you. You were upset with me, and I had not lived up to the words I had given you. I would not blame you if your attentions slipped. She is very beautiful," she said sadly. Not that she had any right to be sad. All she said was true. But that didn't make it any less painful.

Strong fingers gripped her chin, and she tried to blink away the tears in her eyes before she met his. He looked a little embarrassed. "I was hurt. Moreover I was convinced you only saw me as a temporary lover. And a past one. I may have allowed Hawke to… appear close. To soothe my ego. And to, well, show you that I was still desirable. To some.

"But you don't just stop loving someone," he said. "Even if you really, truly wish to. And I did want to forget, at the beginning. Every time I saw you was a knife in my stomach, and every smile you gave another had me at the training dummies, tearing them apart. But that kind of anger is only from one source, and it never stopped. Never, Cassandra. I was worried I would love you until I died, all alone."

Cassandra sighed and hugged him, and he smiled. "You really thought I could ever be with Hawke after knowing the glory of you?" he asked. His tone softened his words to a comforting affection. "You beautiful idiot."

"I am not an idiot," she muttered.

From the look on his face, he knew better than to argue. "But you are beautiful," he said, tucking her short hair behind her ear. "So the answer is, I chose you before I ever saw your face. I've been choosing you my whole life."

She frowned. "It is unfair that you're so romantic."

"A good Commander never gives up his advantage," he said. He kissed her. "Inquisitor."

She looked up at the Temple again, and he turned to stare as well. "Hopefully it will not come to pass," she said. "Hopefully Justinia will find a way."

"If anyone can, it will be her," said Cullen. "But if she can't, we'll be ready. This is too important to fail."

By unspoken signal they both started walking back to the Chantry. She looked up at his profile, handsome and weathered, but not so old as it once had been. "Does it worry you? That tomorrow, everything could be different?"

"A little," he said after a minute. "Change is never painless." He grinned then, like the light of the sun. Like a young man, without a care in the world. Like a man in love. "But at least I know one thing that will stay the same."

He reached out and took her hand without another word, and they walked under the shadowed arch of the Chantry door. Together, into the future.

* * *

 _A/N: And thus another story has concluded, though I recognize that there is a lot of future that they're walking into! I don't know if I will continue the story in a sequel, because I don't usually write game timeline works! It feels AU enough that it might be interesting but it's also a LOT of backstory to work through. Hopefully some of the shape of what would come is visible in the gloom, such as why Ferelden might have a more personal interest in the Breach, the reason for Leliana's new DAI hardness, and who the Warden is that Hawke brings back to the Inquisition._

 _Thank you all, as always, for reading and encouraging me and being endlessly sweet. Special thanks to shom, who is a fierce and wonderful reviewer that I'm only ever able to thank in these notes. But every single one of you who I've corresponded with has been great, heartening me when I was down and making me laugh with all of your wry observations. I'm going on vacation starting tomorrow, so I really raced to get this posted so there wouldn't be a week of radio silence and waiting! I hope some of you caught the little things I added in just for you, or that you inspired with your comments. I'm so unspeakably grateful to anyone who takes the time to read, comment, or even just say hi._

 _I usually don't use songs for inspiration but I really have to credit Tove Lo's "Talking Body", Arctic Monkeys "Do I Wanna Know?" and Relient K's "Be My Escape (Acoustic)" for being the songs I played on repeat over and over again to get the vibe for certain parts of the story. I know some people like to know about author playlists, so those were mine!_

 _So anyway. Yes. Thank you. And I look forward to reading all of your yet-to-be-written stories and to my own muse returning for another round of…. Something! Love you all to pieces._


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